


Greenwood the Great

by Alohomora92



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 89,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alohomora92/pseuds/Alohomora92
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To his surprise, she no longer looked embarrassed or angered, as he had anticipated. No. She looked amused. And in that split second he understood that she was humoring him in the same way he was humoring her. Oh, yes. Dinner tonight would be most entertaining. </p>
<p>The tale of how Thranduil met Alarya - future Queen of Mirkwood - and the development of their relationship. Will include Legolas and all of his siblings - I imagine many -</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amused

The golden rays of Sunlight brightened the clear blue summer’s sky, washing down peacefully over the green leaves of the forests of Mirkwood, and reflecting especially beautifully on the many colors of the flowers that inundated the Palace Gardens. Overall, the day had proven to be a slow relaxing day for King Thranduil as he peacefully made his way through the intricate labyrinth of trees and flowers back to the Palace. 

He wore a plain- for a King’s standard- elegant light blue tunic, its delicate silver embroidery almost unnoticeable as they traced complex patterns of leaves. There had been no council to attend that day, nor had there been any meeting for negotiations of any kind, and thus he had gladly taken the opportunity to be freed of the long formal robes he usually wore. His long light blond hair fell loosely down his back and nearly to his waist, no crown resting on his head. He knew he would eventually need to have it properly braided and combed for dinner, but he decided that that could wait a couple of more hours. 

Dinner. The sole thought of it made the golden sunrays of the bright summer’s day turn to grey clouds in a stormy sky. The report form the patrols over the last two weeks had informed about an unusual increase in orcs roaming near the borders. His past two weeks had been spent on his study strategizing patrol routes and schedules and, as if the long sessions in his study were not enough, his two closest advisors had a special affinity for bringing up the topic at the dinner table. He was certainly tired of having his sacred joyful mealtime used as a council meeting. On the bright side, at least at dinner there was wine. 

He shook his head lightly, forcing his thoughts in a different direction as he stepped into yet another garden. Unlike the other ones, this one already had an occupant, a Lady, he noticed, although he did not pay much attention to her. 

“My Lady.” He greeted her politely, nodding his head curtly in acknowledgement. His tone was short, his serene voice silently indicating that he wanted no conversation. He absently noticed that she looked up from the book that had been sitting on her lap, but he kept walking, heading back towards the Palace. 

“Well, it was about time you came. I have been waiting here for almost an hour.” He heard her voice saying just as he had taken the first steps into the garden. 

At first he thought she must have been talking to someone else, but a quick scan around the garden told him that there was no one else but him. He turned on his heels to face her, a fair eyebrow raised questioningly. Waiting for what? No one had informed him he was expected to be somewhere at this moment. And yet, what puzzled him the most what the casual and informal tone with which she had addressed him. Did he know her from somewhere? 

“Pardon me?” He replied politely, standing tall and royal, almost expecting her to realize that she had most certainly mistaken him for someone else. 

The Lady however did not look at all confused. She was young, he noticed, and she was definitely beautiful. As he stared at her, paying her attention for the first time, he was completely sure that he had never met this Lady before. Large emerald eyes stared back at him, the color of the forest, soft and kind, and at the same time so impenetrable, her gaze steady. He could not make out what was going through her head, but she looked at him directly in the eyes, her head held high, shoulders back underneath her flawless strands of golden hair, which cascaded long down her back. She held an aura of authority that for a split second made him doubt his own. Where was her respect and humility in the presence of her King? 

“Are you not the ellon my father said he would send to show me around the Palace?” Her voice was refined, musical, carrying the same authority as her posture. Nothing in her expression or in the tone of her voice sounded impolite or unkind. No. But it certainly implied a sense of superiority over him, the way a Lady gently asks a servant for a glass of wine. 

His eyebrow arched further. The ellon her father had sent? Who was her father? He contained his lips from curving up in a mocking smile as he clearly realized that she had no idea who he was. She was in for a surprise. Addressing him in such manner, and in his gardens. 

It did not take him long to guess that this stunning Lady must be the daughter of one of the respected retired warriors of old times that chose to reside within his borders but beyond the Mirkwood gates, in the tranquility of the forest. He had, in many occasions offered them to reside in his own Palace, but many of them had refused, choosing the peaceful company of the trees. They had come to the Palace to further discuss the safety of his lands. 

“My apologies, my Lady, but you mistake me for someone else.” He had to make an effort not to smirk at her ignorance, remaining polite and calmed. She had never seen him before, so why should she have known who he was. He was aware that he was not dressed like the King of Mirkwood. 

The Lady’s eyebrows shot up in response, her flawless face looking slightly embarrassed by her mistake, although not looking any less superior. “Forgive me, my Lord.” 

He nodded his head lightly, accepting her apology, and his attention was drawn back to her large green eyes, looking at him so steadily, directly in the eyes. He had to admit that she was probably the most beautiful maiden he had yet seen. He decided that he would introduce himself. It would be impolite not to do so, especially since she was staying in his Palace. It did not reflect well on a King to ignore his guests. 

“I am Thranduil, King of the Greenwood.” He said in the traditional elven greeting, offering her a king smile. “Can I be of any help?” 

To his surprise, she raised a delicate eyebrow in disbelief, staring at him for a long moment, taking in his entire appearance. For the first time that day, the Elvenking wished he had worn his long formal robes. He tried his best to mask his obvious bewilderment from showing on his face as he felt her eyes carefully studying him. Then, her large green eyes lifted to meet his once more, a mocking smile present on her gorgeous lips as her emerald irises sparkled playfully. 

“And I am Galadriel, Lady of Lothlorien. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, your Majesty.” Her tone was light, openly mocking him, as if she though he had been playing a game on her. He could not contain a light laugh from escaping his lips. She had not believed him! 

“Lies are not befitting a Lady like you.” He said in the same mocking tone, taking some few steps in her direction. He had never been more amused in his life. “I am King Thranduil, my Lady.” 

She rose from the elegant bench she had been sitting on, every single of her movements like a flawless dance. To his surprise, she walked in his direction, her green eyes now looking slightly bored. Yes. Bored. She showed no signs that she believed him. In fact, she looked as if she was not interested in his ‘lie’, slightly annoyed, although never once did she behave improperly or impolitely. 

“Fine, my Lord.” The sarcastic tone of her voice made his confusion grow larger. Her voice was kind, never rude, and yet it carried the slight tone with which one addresses a lying child, as if she was letting him believe whatever he wanted. He had never been more confused. More so, he had never looked more confused. 

“Now, if you would excuse, Your Majesty, I will head back inside. And my apologies for the misunderstanding.” She added, emphasizing his title, offering him another one of her flawless smiles. “I have been invited to dine at the real King’s table tonight, and I would not want to be late.” 

His grin only grew larger on his face, a fine eyebrow raised in bewilderment. Who was the one lying now? A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he just stared at her. He knew for a fact that he had not invited anyone to dine at his table that night. The entire situation resulted simply too amusing for him. She was entirely unaware that her attempt to show off was failing miserably, for her lie had been easily caught without her having the slightest idea. She thought he was merely one of the many elves that resided and worked at the Palace. 

As if things had not been entertaining enough, she gracefully waltzed in his direction, her head held high, even though he was nearly an entire head taller, and handed him the book she had been reading moments before. He was too confused to know what he was doing, and he found himself taking the book in his hands without even noticing. 

“Would you be so kind as to take this back to the library for me?” She flashed another one of her perfect smiles, not waiting for an answer before she walked away form him, back in the direction of the majestic Palace. 

He stood there for a moment, his mind trying to understand what had happened. He was very well aware that his face must have looked entirely stunned, speechless. He quickly shook his head, once again controlling his expression before deciding to head back into the Palace with as much dignity as he could muster. He walked tall, as royal and serene as always, although his mind remained entirely baffled. 

He climbed the few steps into the ample terrace of the Private Quarters, his mind still pondering on the strange encounter. Two of his guards bowed politely as he passed, and he handed the book to one of them, without even turning to look. The guard immediately took it, his eyes betraying his puzzlement. 

“Take this back to the library.” He instructed absently, and saw the guard nod his head out of the corner of his eye. 

The Elvenking silently made his way to his chambers, nearly oblivious to the bows and greetings he received from the elves that passed by him. As expected, a welcoming fire already danced in his large fireplace, vividly illuminating the overlay large and elegant chambers. Thranduil was not surprised to find a familiar figure already waiting for him inside his chambers, standing quietly in one corner. 

“Did you have a nice walk, my Lord?” The elegant blond advisor inquired with a smile, only managing to receive a light chuckle in return. “A bath is ready for you, my Lord.” 

“Thank you, Doronor.” He replied with a nod of his head, looking straight into the dark blue eyes of his closest friend and advisor. 

Letting his ice blue eyes wonder about the familiar room, the Elvenking noticed that his dinner robes had already been laid out for him, as well as his crown and intricate hairpieces. He let out a light chuckle as he thought of the maiden in the gardens who had wanted him to believe that she would be sitting at the King’s- his- table that night. If only she knew how amusing her lie had resulted to him. 

“Doronor.” He found himself saying calmly, unable co contain a smirk as a new idea popped into his mind. “The warriors have already arrived at the Palace, have they not? Do you know if any Ladies came with them?” 

His friend raised an eyebrow at him, and Thranduil threw him a look that meant he was to answer his question without further comments. 

“Yes, Agarben and his family arrived late this morning. His brother Lasgaer also came with him, as well as his wife and daughter.” Doronor informed, and although he did not voice any questions, his gleaming dark blue eyes implied them silently. 

So he had been right in his assumptions. The maiden must then be Lasgaer’s daughter. He knew both elves briefly. He had met with them previously, but many years ago. He had also met all three sons of Agarben, as well as Lasgaer’s firstborn son, who had died in battle some years ago, leaving him only with a daughter. 

“I see.” He said absently as he made his way towards the bathing chambers, eager to step into the warm soothing water. “Invite them to dine at my table tonight.” 

Oh, that Lady would be surprised when she found that she would be dining at his table after all. He heard Doronor chuckle, shaking his head lightly before answering him. 

“As you wish, my Lord.” The advisor’s words were respectful, the way and advisor speaks to his King, and yet the gleam in his dark blue eyes and grin on his face were those of a friend, teasing him. 

“Thranduil, may I ask what are you planning?” Doronor finally asked, transforming from his advisor to his friend. It was nothing unusual for the blond advisor to call his King casually by his first name in private settings. The Elvenking turned around to face his friend, an equal grin present in his fair ageless face.

“I am merely going to amuse myself tonight, my friend.” 

He heard Doronor letting out another light laugh, but he did not turn to look again, walking into the bathing chambers as he heard his friend leaving the room silently. 

Night had already fallen in the vast forests of Mirkwook, and the Elvenking found himself in his rich formal robes, the color of the golden earth, embroidered in gold thread and emeralds. The crown of silver leaves rested neatly over his head, his long light blond hair had been perfectly combed and braided. He looked royal, walking tall and graceful through the hallways of his Palace, his long robes flowing behind him as he made his way to the large dining room where his guest already waited. But he did not dread the meal this particular night. No. Dinner tonight would be most entertaining. 

Two guards bowed respectfully at him as he reached the large pair of wooden doors that led into the dinning room, and he nodded his head curtly. He heard his arrival being announced as one of the guards carefully opened one of the doors for him to step into the large room. 

He walked patiently, as he always did, to the throne-like chair placed specifically him at the head of the long table. His guests had risen to their feet, as was customary, bowing their heads respectfully. But it was none of this what made a wide smile appear on his lips. No. He was used to this kind of treatment. 

On this particular night, the victorious smile on his face was ignited by one particular elf inside the room. He had no trouble in finding her, sitting only a couple of spaces to his right. Her stunning green eyes widened as they fell on his, immediately recognizing him, and for a split second she looked mortified, lowering her gaze to her plate. She looked so embarrassed it was endearing. 

“Thank you for joining me tonight.” He greeted his guests with a smile, motioning elegantly with a hand for them to sit just as he lowered himself to his chair. The moment he was sitting down, wine was served on every glass of cut crystal, and a gentle conversation started to flow along the long table. 

He discretely directed his gaze in the direction of the golden haired Lady, only to find her staring deeply into her wine, as if it was the most interesting thing she had seen in a long time. She had not dared to lift her gaze, looking small in the crowd of finely dressed elves at his table. His advisors and other high elves that resided at the Palace had also joined him for dinner, as they customarily did. And yet, even as she tried to make herself small, her pure beauty called the attention of any looking eye. She was dressed elegantly, but plainly, and for a moment he was overly glad that she was not wearing any of the fine jewelry the Ladies in Mirkwood usually wore, otherwise he would not have been able to take his eyes from her. Oh, she would make the jewels look plain. 

“Thank you for such a kind invitation, my Lord.” Lasgaer said to his right, and he directed his serene ice blue eyes in his direction. The golden haired elf was older than him, and he knew that the respected warrior had fought next to his own father, Oropher, in battle. 

“The pleasure is mine.” He added politely with a smile, taking a sip of his wine. “Tell me, Lord Lasgaer, how do you fare?” 

The golden haired elf proceeded to talk about his life and his family, and Thranduil took advantage of the situation to spare one more discrete glance in the direction of the beautiful Lady. He had to make an effort to appear interested in Lasager’s words as he tried not to laugh at the stunning daughter of the warrior who still remained with her eyes fixed on her wine. She had had not trouble whatsoever in looking at him directly in the eye some hours ago, standing tall and proud. It seemed that her bravery had suddenly disappeared. 

For the first time in his life, the Elvenking felt very well aware and thankful for the grandeur and richness of his dinning room. From the thin delicate columns that opened up like golden branches high above their heads to support the roof, to the many silver plates replete with fruits, pastries and exquisite dishes on his table. Everything about the place seemed to impress the gorgeous Lady, whose eyes kept trying to take in every detail while avoiding looking in his direction, fixing on her plate every two seconds. 

He returned his ice blue eyes in the direction of Lasgaer, easily pretending that he had been listening to all that he had said. The King of Mirkwood took yet another sip of his wine as the warrior’s wife added something to her husband’s tale, although he did not quite hear what. 

“Is this your wife?” Thranduil inquired casually, motioning with a graceful movement of the hand to the Lady he very well knew was the warrior’s wife. 

“Yes, my Lord” Lasgaer answered with a wide smile on his face. “This is my wife, Laessel. And have you met my daughter?” 

The gorgeous green-eyed Lady lifted her eyes in his direction for the time, unable to make her presence ignored any longer. Her emerald eyes met his as he nodded his head politely, not able to help another wide smile form showing on his face at her mortified and embarrassed expression. 

“Oh, yes. I met her briefly in the gardens this afternoon.” He commented casually, allowing his gaze to once again fall on the stunning Lady’s face. She met his eyes out of obligation, looking scared of what he might say. “Although, I did not catch your name, my Lady.” 

He addressed her formally, just as he would address any of the other elves sitting at the long elegant table, humoring himself with this proper conversation after the radically informal way in which she had addressed him in the gardens. 

“I am Alarya, my Lord. And forgive me, but I also did not catch your name. Would you remind me?” She introduced herself, the way one respectfully introduces himself to a stranger, only her forest green eyes making fun of all the elves at the table, ignorant of their pretention. And it was at that moment, when she said her name, that the Lady allowed her eyes to meet his directly once more, holding his gaze with the same steadiness and pride she had stared at him in the gardens. A beautiful smile lightened her face, contrary to what he had expected her reaction would be. To his surprise, she no longer looked embarrassed or angered, as he had anticipated. No. She looked amused. And in that split second he understood that she was humoring him in the same way he was humoring her. Oh, yes. Dinner tonight would be most entertaining.


	2. Pinecones

Bright shimmering colors and all kinds of exquisite jewels sparkled inside the King’s Halls, replete with jovial elves, all of them dressed in their finest robes and dresses. A harmonious waltz tuned in the background, nearly lost in the song of a thousand conversations merging together into a single unintelligible tune. It was cold outside, the Moon shining in pale silver over the empty dark gardens, but here, inside the largest halls of the Palace, the air had never been more warm and welcoming. 

It had been close to a year since the last time Alarya had been inside the majestic walls of the Palace, and the sight of the grand winter’s solstice celebration fascinated her more than nearly anything she had seen. She had attended this celebration a couple of times before, but she had been no more than an elfling at that time, thus everything had looked incredibly different at the time. Since the unexpected and devastating death of her older brother, her family had chose to stay away from such grand events, her parents no longer in the mood for celebrations during long years, and she had chosen to stay with them to offer her company. 

This year, however, she had not been able to find it in herself to stay at home. No. This year she had convinced her parents to attend the celebration, nearly dragging them all the way to the Palace for this specific night. She had claimed that she longed to see the magnificent building once more, after how much she had adored it on their last visit ten months ago. But that had only been a fragment of reasons for coming. Yes. The reason she had wanted to come on this particular night to this particular celebration was currently sitting at the head of the highest table, wearing rich and elegant royal blue robes. 

The King of Mirkwood sat tall and regal on his throne like chair, yet oblivious to her presence in the Halls. He held a cut crystal glass of deep red wine in his hand, sipping from it absently as he spoke with the elf to his left. He had not turned his head in her direction once. But she did not really care. Alarya was not even sure if she wanted his attention or not, she merely wanted to see the grand sight of this celebration with her own eyes. She wanted to see him in this grand celebration. Curious to get another glimpse at him, so royal and powerful, and at the same time so serene and composed.

She had met the mighty and respected Elvenking for the first time ten months ago, when she had mistaken him for someone else in the gardens of the Palace. He had acted gracious about it – as he seemed to do about everything – and it had not taken her long to figure out who he was. Really, no other elf in the entire realm had eyes so piercing and powerful as his silent ice blue eyes, no other elf walked as gracefully and royally as he did. 

Truth is, she had been so embarrassed that she had not wanted to admit she had not been able to recognize her King, and thus, when he introduced himself she faked that she did not believe him. What a surprise she got when he invited her to dine at his table and there he was, the King of Mirkwood in all of his glory, amusing himself at her expense. Oh, yes. That dinner had been the most amusing one she had ever attended. She had not seen him afterwards, and was left with the urging curiosity of throwing another glance at this mighty personage. 

“Who are you staring at, Alarya?” Her older cousin, Aerdan, said from her left, his smirking green eyes searching through in the direction her eyes had been looking. She immediately turned her eyes to meet his, before he could trace the line of her gaze. 

“No one” She lied perfectly, sounding casual as she tasted yet another sip of the exquisite wine. “Just overlooking the celebration, it is breathtaking.” 

“Mhm. And what is the ‘celebration’s’ name?” Her cousin’s eyes mocked her, an eyebrow raised high in a playful expression, as if he had not believed her in the slightest. 

“Aerdan!” She scolded him, unable to contain a grin from appearing on her face. Oh, her cousins. The three most carefree elves she had ever met. All three of them older than her. 

“Who is breathtaking?” Her other cousin, Agoron, shimmed in form in front of her. Unlike his brother, who had fine golden hair, Agoron had dark brown hair, but the same dark green eyes. 

“No one.” She informed. 

“The ‘celebration’ ” Aerdan said to his older brother over her words, producing a playful chuckle form the older elf. 

“You two are impossible. Where is Anethor?” She hissed unable to contain her grin as she rose from her chair, ready to join another group of elves in conversation. 

“Over there, dancing.” Aerdan was the one to answer her, just as she rose to her feet, his head nodding in the direction where the youngest of her cousins was currently waltzing around with a gorgeous dark haired maiden. 

“Oh, Anethor already found his own ‘celebration’ to stare at.” Her eldest cousin muttered, eyes shimmering teasingly, erupting a chorus of musical laughter from his brother, Aerdan. 

She tried her best to contain her laughter as she quickly walked away from the table in which they had been sitting before her cousins could say anything else. The long pale rose dress she was wearing floated weightlessly around her as she moved, the few tiny jewels she had incrusted in her hair, tingling against one another. She walked tall, as elegant as she could. She had never been one to make herself look small or shy, although she knew her manners very well and was aware of how to act properly and politely. Alarya allowed herself to spare another glance in the high table’s direction, only to find the golden throne-line chair empty. 

Shaking her head slightly, she quickly turned her head back to the front in order to continue her march through the halls. However, her short distraction came at a prize, for before she could even finish turning her head, she collided strongly against something, or someone by the feels of it. The elf in question had been standing with his back to her, casually chatting with a group of finely dressed elves, and had not seen her approaching. She was stunned for a while, gathering herself after the unexpected collision. Something shattered, and she heard the dripping sound of liquid hitting the polished marble floor. 

She blinked a couple of times, mouth slightly open in her stupidity. Someone hissed, and she saw the elf she had collided with shaking his right hand in the air. If she could have blushed, she was sure she would have turned red in pure embarrassment, wishing the majestic stone walls could suddenly swallow her. There, in front of her was no other than King Thranduil, the shattered pieces of the fine cut crystal glass of wine he had been holding glistening on the floor by the end of his rich blue robes, the deep red liquid making a puddle at his feet. 

And yet, what made her wish she could run and disappear was the sight of one of the elves that been chatting with his King quickly grabbing a white silk napkin from the table nearly and holding it to the Elvenking’s right hand. King Thranduil’s right palm was facing up, a large open cut traveling from the middle of his index finger and all the way down his palm, small pieces of shattered glass sticking awkwardly out of his flesh. The blond elf she did not know held the silken napkin underneath his King’s hand, preventing the oozing blood from the cut to drip between his fingers and making a mess, but not daring to press the cloth against the pieces of glass incrusted in the Elveking’s hand. 

She froze in her spot, like a child caught after shattering her mother’s finest vase. Oh, Valar. She felt like slapping herself. Apparently embarrassing herself in front of the mighty and handsome King once was not enough. No. She had to do it twice. And, as she could see, she had to do it with grandeur. To her biggest surprise, the Elvenking did not look angry at the happening. On the contrary, he looked disbelieved, a soft chuckle escaping his lips at the peculiarity of the situation he was in. 

And then he turned to look at her, searching for the cause responsible for his bleeding hand. Piercing endless ice blue eyes met hers, and he did a double take, turning quickly to look back at her as recognition hit him. Two fine eyebrows rose in surprise, a smirk present on his handsome face as his ice blue eyes stared at her mockingly. Oh, yes. She wanted to disappear. She did not know whether to look mortified or to laugh at herself for the ridiculous situation in which she had placed herlself. What was she supposed to say? Sorry, my Lord, I did not mean to run into you and make drop your glass causing it to shatter on your hand and cutting your palm? That was not a thing you apologized for every day. Let alone in the middle of a celebration.

“I should have guessed.” Her King said as he stared teasingly at her, looking as tall and royal as ever, the piercing yet humorous sparkle in his powerful ice blue eyes making her feel nervous, sending butterflies to her stomach. She bit her lower lip, smiling apologetically. 

However, before she could respond she found the blond elf suddenly moving the King’s hand in her direction, placing the napkin in her hands and moving her hands until she was grabbing the cloth in the same way he had been grabbing it previously. 

“Here, hold it like this, do not move it.” The elf moved so quickly she did not have time to process what was happening, leaving her too confused, and before she could realize it, she found herself awkwardly holding the King’s bleeding hand, trying her best not to look at the pieces of glass sticking form his flawless skin. 

“I can hold it, Doronor. I have two hands.” She heard the King saying with another light chuckle, but the blond elf did not listen as he led his King through the crowd, out of the large pair of exquisite wooden door. 

Oh, no, things could not get any worse, or any more embarrassing. Not only was she responsible for the situation, no, she was also the one awkwardly holding the King’s hand as they walked through the long corridors of the Palace. It was like parading the shame of her stupidity. She was only glad the corridors were empty. Although that mattered little now, everyone had already seen her mistake inside the Halls. She was sure that had she chosen someone else to accidentally injure, her embarrassing mistake could have passed ignored. But, no, she had to choose the King. 

It did not take them long to reach what she guessed was the Healing Wing, and the blond elf led into a room with a couple of beds, a table and some chairs. The King silently made his way to one of the chairs and she followed him silently, longing to let go his hand, which she carried awkwardly over both of hers. To her greatest relief, King Thranduil pulled his hand from hers, placing it palm up on the table and taking the soaked napkin with his other hand. She heard the blond elf leaving the room at a rushed pace, but she did not turn to look, her eyes staring at the floor, trying hard not to laugh out of nerves and shame. How humiliating. 

“I do not mind you staying, but do not feel obligated to stay here, my Lady. You may return to the celebration if you wish.” His serene musical voice was calmed, peaceful, as if he was talking about the weather. There was not the slightest hint of anger in his voice. No. In fact, he once again sounded amused. 

A light laugh escaped his lips, shaking his head lightly. The musical sound reminded her of silver bells floating in the wind, so rare and so unique. Oh, yes, she wanted to leave. She wanted to disappear and erase this memory from her head. But the damage was already done, and he was already very well aware that it had been her the one responsible for the accident. If only to try in vain to lessen her embarrassment a little, she would stay. At least to say she was sorry. 

“I am sorry.” She said as she lowered herself to the chair next to him. She felt like a child caught doing mischief, and then, without her being able to explain what was happening, she found herself bursting into a fit of nervous laughter. She reached her palm to her face, trying to control her laughter, to force a serious expression on her face. By the Valar! She had accidentally injured her King! But she could not contain the chuckles from escaping her lips. 

She lifted her eyes only to find him staring at her interested, ice blue eyes confused, amused, a soft smile on his face. The sight only managed for another fit of nervous chuckles to escape her lips, uncontrollable. She could not stop. She heard the door opening and a dark haired elf, a healer she guessed, walked into the room. The elf sat in front of the handsome King, a set on instruments and gauzes already spread on the table. The healer’s eyes darted in her direction, puzzled before looking at his King. 

“She is the criminal.” The Elvenking answered before the healer had time to ask who she was. 

“Alright, my Lord, this might sting.” The healer cautioned, but the Elvenking did not wince once as the expert healer carefully removed all the pieces of glass from the cut, one by one, before cleaning it thoroughly with wet gauze. She sat in silence the entire time, finally able to stop her chuckles, but not daring to look at the cut as the healer worked. And still, what made her feel self-conscious was the piercing pair of ice blue eyes, staring at her, impenetrable, unreadable. 

“I am going to need to stitch it.” The healer informed, and King Thranduil silently motioned for him to proceed with a graceful effortless movement of his hand. She did not know how long it took, but finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the King’s had was properly stitched, marking a single line of tiny black knots from his index finger to the end of his palm. 

“Wait here while I go get some salve and bandages, my Lord.” The healer did not wait for an answer as he rose from the table and headed out of the room, leaving her alone with the King and her embarrassment. The Elvenking’s piercing ice blue eyes turned to his hand, carefully examining his palm. 

“So tell me, what has Lady Galadriel come to do in my Halls tonight?” His tone was polite, the voice of a King, and yet the teasing sparkle shimmering deep in his infinite ice blue eyes told her he was mocking her. As if she had not made a fool of herself already, he needed to bring her other mistake up. She laughed again. There was nothing else left for to do. 

“Well, obviously to shatter your glass of wine, my Lord. Because I seemed to not have been able to embarrass myself enough last time I was here.” She found herself saying between chuckles, to her surprise her voice sounded casual, speaking to him way to easily. Why was she saying this? 

“No you were not.” He agrees with her, and to her great surprise he let out another light laugh. 

“I am really sorry, my Lord.” She added, looking up to meet his powerful ice blue eyes. He lifted a hand gracefully, waving off her apology as unnecessary. 

“Were you enjoying the feast?” He asked, and yet the way in which his piercing ice blue eyes stared into hers was not the same polite way in which they would look at any other elf under this general question. No. It was not a polite question to make conversation. It was a real question. And the look in his eyes told her that her answer mattered. 

“I was, very much.” She answered with a light chuckle, her green eyes looking into his ice blue ones. He looked so handsome and powerful than she felt incredibly plain. His long light blond hair was perfectly braided, his head adorned by the majestic crown of silver leaves. “My family and I do not usually come.” 

“I am aware of that.” He said in return, his lips curving up in a soft smile. Everything about him seemed so powerful, so royal, and oddly enough she felt so comfortable around him at that moment. But then again, she had already done everything that could make the situation awkward. 

“May I ask, how do you celebrate winter’s solstice then?” Ice blue eyes stared at hers, curious. 

“We stay at our house, exchange gifts. Nothing out of the ordinary. I gift my parents a pine cone…” 

“A pine cone?” He interrupted her. His ice blue eyes were looking at her curiously, as if questioning her sanity. He looked entirely confused. “As in a real pine cone?” 

“Yes.” She let out a chuckle. “A pine cone. You must have seen one at least once in you lifetime, my Lord. You know they are brown and…” 

“Yes, yes, I know what a pine cone is” He interrupted her again, his ice blue eyes staring deeply into hers, suddenly looking more curious than before. “My question is why a pine cone?” 

“Simply because.” She answered easily, as if she did not understand his question. He looked at her for a moment, trying to make sense of her answer. 

“But what do you do with a pinecone?” His voice was soft, ice blue eyes more open than before, no longer impenetrable, no longer staring at her like a King stares to his people. And yet, he still looked so powerful, so royal and elegant. 

“Nothing.” She let out a soft chuckle, letting her eyes easily find his puzzled ones. “That is the point of the gift. You do nothing with it. It has no purpose, only intention. I was a very young elfling and I suddenly wanted to gift my family something, but I had nothing to give them, and then I stumbled into the most perfect pinecones in the forest. You see, I had a fascination with pinecones when I was little. And so, I gave them pinecones, thinking that it was the best present I could ever give anyone. Of course, I latter found out that you could do nothing with pinecones, but still my family loved them. And then it became sort of a tradition to give each other a pinecone. Just for the gesture of the gift.” 

The King’s ice blue eyes were looking at hers intently, listening carefully, as if she had just narrated the most interesting story he had ever heard. The soft, flawless smile on his handsome face made her continue detailing the story, knowing that her audience was more than interested. 

“We paint them, of course, to make them look different from one another. So each pinecone you get is different. It is really fun, picking out the colors and detailing the design to make each pinecone a special one.” 

“What colors do you paint yours?” The gentle way in which his ice blue eyes stared at her made a new round of butterflies flutter inside her stomach, and yet she found herself answering with the same ease she had answered all of his previous questions. 

“I do many different colors. Mostly green and blue-”

“I like blue.” He commented as she spoke and she let out single chuckle. 

“also gold, silver-

“Silver is also pretty.” 

“-red, and violet.” 

Her tale was silenced as the dark haired healer suddenly returned to the room, carrying some bandages and something else she could not figure out. The healer silently sat in front of his King, applying what she found out was a sort of healing salve over the stitched cut before carefully bandaging it. 

“All set, your Majesty.” The healer said, bowing his head respectfully before standing back up and cleaning everything from the table. The Elvenking rose to his feet, nodding his head curtly at the healer with a word of thanks. She followed his example, also rising to her feet. 

“Shall we, my Lady?” He said in his polite serene voice, offering her his arm to take, ice blue eyes sparkling oddly at he stared at her. She was surprised at first, but instantly found herself accepting his arm. It felt strange, to walk by the arm of the mighty elf she knew was no other than her King, and at the same time she felt so comfortable, feeling his perfectly muscled arm underneath the rich fabric of his robes. 

He escorted her back to the Halls, where they parted ways to join in the exchange of gifts. She did not talk with him again that night, each absorbed in their own little world, and only once did she caught his breathtaking ice blue eyes, staring at her from the high table. 

The celebration was as perfect as she had imagined it to be, everything had been the finest of the fine, but it was neither of those things what would make that specific night remain dear in her memories for the rest of her life. And latter that night, well after midnight, after her family had travelled back to her house and her parents were fast asleep, Alarya found herself absently roaming through her collection of beautifully painted pinecones. And then, she found the one she had been looking for. It was small, probably one of the smallest ones she had, painted in the lightest shade of blue, spiked with silver at the edges. She had painted this one some years ago, but had never gifted it, she had only done it for the fun of painting it. 

She did not really know what drove her to wrap that small pinecone in some spare silver paper, or what made her write in a tiny card the words ‘Sorry for the glass’ , nor she knew what impulse to send the newly wrapped gift to the Palace the next morning with the messenger elves that carried notes and letters to and from the Palace every day. She only knew it was probably the best gift she had ever given two days later, when she received a small note written in the finest handwriting. 

Forgiven,   
-Thranduil

Just like that. As simple as her gift itself. Two words. And yet it was the simplicity of his name, perfectly written in his slanted calligraphy, without any title at the front, without the word King accompanying the name what made a true smile appear on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello :) Here I'm leaving chapter 2 of this story! Enjoy!


	3. Rain

Thranduil turned the page. He had not really been paying full attention to the stack of papers that lay on his hands as his eyes carefully went trough all of them. If there was an aspect of his duties as King that he really did not enjoy was the tedious task of going through reports from the trading agreements. Not that he thought the matter was of little importance, or that it did not require his attention, but nonetheless it was a tedious task. Patrol reports were at least exciting, but these, oh these were simply long. At least he had already gone through half of them. 

The Elvenking reached two fingers to his head, massaging his temple. These reports always gave him a headache. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he remembered that he was not the only one who had to go through these reports. Oh, no. He only got the revised version of them, in which things were laid out neatly and concisely, pointing out only the matters of importance. The Valar have mercy on the poor elf in charge of sorting out the reports beforehand and rewriting them for him. 

A soft breeze toyed absently with his long light blond hair, and the King of Mirkwood allowed himself to look up from the stack of papers in his hands. The air was cool, anticipating rain in its soothing whistling. Thranduil let his ice blue eyes roam around the silent garden around him, stretching his legs on the long chaise upon which he was casually sitting. Yes, he knew that coming to his gardens to read these reports had been a brilliant idea. No one would come looking for him here unless the matter was of real urgency. 

A lazy thunder echoed through the humid air, followed by a sudden heavy curtain of rain, pouring from the sky without the gentle warning of the first small drops. A soft smile drew on his lips. Now definitely no one would come looking for him. Not that he was bothered by the fact that his presence was mostly always needed for one matter or another, but this day had especially been a very very busy day, and he felt incredibly relieved to have a moment of privacy. 

Letting out a silent sigh, the Elvenking put the papers on the cushions next to him, placing a heavy book he had brought with him over them so that they would not be blown away by the breeze. For a moment, he concentrated only of the gentle sound of the swaying trees, and the heavy drops drumming on the roof of the small gazebo he was occupying. 

It was then that a figure running aimlessly through the curtain of rain caught his attention. The smile on his lips grew wider as he recognized the figure that had been surprised by the rain. He could not take his eyes from her, watching her as she ran through the wet gardens, her hands over her head in a pathetic attempt to block the rain. He could not help but feel almost entirely surprised to see Alarya. What was she doing in the Palace? He had had no idea she was here. When had she arrived? 

Alarya’s large green eyes spotted the gazebo –his gazebo – and he saw her dashing in its direction, not noticing that it was already occupied. He did not move, simply watching her. Even as she ran from the heavy rain, she looked so elegant and graceful. He watched her reach the gazebo, dropping her hands to her sides as she stepped out of the rain, shaking the water from her arms and dress. She still had not noticed him, taking her long soaked golden hair and twisting it over her shoulder to let it drip on the marble floor. 

“You are making a puddle on my perfectly dry floor.” 

She jumped at his peaceful voice, for the first time noticing that she was not alone. Her eyes immediately turned in his direction, and he sat straighter, letting his feet casually drop back to the floor. She flashed him one her flawless smiles, and once again he could not read the expression in her gleaming emerald eyes. 

“Good afternoon, my Lord.” She greeted him, sounding almost reluctant, like a child caught stealing the sweets from the kitchen. And yet, the flawless smile never left her lips, her eyes still gleaming with their usual life. 

He chuckled lightly as he watched her, standing awkwardly at the edge of the gazebo she had thought to be empty. Her drenched dress stuck to her small figure, and she had her arms folded across her chest, perfectly aware of the way her soaked dress delineated her figure in a most improper way. At least her dress was in a dark shade of blue, which had not gone transparent because of the water. And still, even in her situation, she held her head high, shoulders back, parading herself as if she was wearing a ball gown. 

Thranduil rose from the chaise –the only piece of furniture in the small gazebo, apart form a small side table next to it- and walked in her direction, removing his formal outer robe. He silently placed the elegant garment over her shoulders to cover her exposed figure, and chuckled as she immediately accepted it. 

“It will get wet.” She warned him although her voice carried little apology for that fact, and he simply waved his hand, indicating her that he did not mind. She did not look specifically comfortable in his robe, but looked more at peace than she had only seconds ago. 

He returned to sit on the chaise, choosing only to occupy half of it as he watched her slide her hands through the ample sleeves of his robe. The rich garment was slightly too long for her, dragging on the floor at her feet. And still, she looked better in the robe than him. The rich green velvet matched her forest green eyes, which sparkled in reflection to the many tiny emeralds sewn in golden threat at the sleeves and around the front. 

Alarya quickly brushed her hair with her hands, pushing it behind her shoulders, standing once again tall and elegant. It was a priceless sight, the way she stood so regally, as if trying to divert attention from her dripping golden hair and slightly too big robe that was not even hers. But then again she had been in situations more embarrassing than this one. He watched her carefully, unable to take his eyes off her as she walked to sit next to him without waiting for an invitation. 

“Thank you.” She said, not meting his eyes. Her melodic voice sounded embarrassed. It was endearing. 

“You are most welcome.” He replied casually, unable to hide his smirk from his face. 

He had not seen her in a while. Well, really he had not seen her since the night of the winter’s solstice in which she had kindly left him a constant reminder of her in the palm of his right hand. After that they had exchanged short letters every once in a while, the tone in the letters always casual, friendly. 

It had been three months now, and their occasional letters had turned into daily ones, and he had found himself for the past week waiting for the correspondence to be delivered to his study every morning, knowing that he would find there a short piece of parchment scribbled with her curly neat handwriting. The letters were never long, no, they could even be called notes. They were never deep or containing a lot of information, and they were always casual, like a conversation carried through days. 

“If I may ask, my Lord, what are you doing here in the gardens?” Her voice was polite and kind, although it still held the comfortable ease that he adored in her. Her emerald eyes looked through his with an inexplicable ease, her gaze steady and impenetrable.

“Yes, you may ask. I was simply doing some paper work.” He replied. “Now, the question is what brings you here. I have not been notified of your visit.” 

“Oh, I did not know I was coming.” She spoke casually now, as if forgetting all unnecessary formalities. Her bright green eyes continued to look at him as she flashed him another of her perfect smiles. “I learned that my mother was coming early this morning, I do not really know the reason, I did not ask, and I volunteered to accompany her.” 

He raised an eyebrow at her, not able to contain the smile on his lips. 

“Glad to hear you find my Palace so exciting.” He teased her as she let out a musical chuckle. “I suppose I still have time to order all glass items to be removed from the dinner table tonight.” 

“I did apologize for that.” She narrowed her eyes at him as she spoke, although the bright smile remained on her lips. “And your Palace is not that exciting, Thranduil.” 

Her eyes widened for a second as she realized she had addressed him by name, carefully searching in his eyes as to check if she had crossed some sort of line. He did not say anything, only letting out another chuckle. She had started to address him simply by ‘Thranduil’ on her letters instead of ‘My Lord’ or ‘Your Majesty’ and he had been sure- or at least hoped desperately- that it would eventually slip from her mouth. Truth is, he liked the sound of his name pronounced in her song-like voice. It sounded so natural, so effortless and casual; it was comfortable to hear it. 

“You did apologize for that, Alarya.” He replied, also using her first name, and he saw her visibly relax, another wide smile appearing on her stunning face. “And I do believe my Palace is very exciting, otherwise what other reason would you have had to so willingly volunteer to come with such a short notice?” 

She let out a small laugh, the sound like a thousand tiny silver bells carried away in the soothing rhythm of the rain. She looked at him straight in the eye, with the same ease and comfort. Valar, she would be able to make the most uncomfortable situation feel like a merry feast, and at the same time maintain her regal posture and dignity. 

“Oh, I did not come because I think your Palace is exciting, do not be so full of yourself.” Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, the words leaving her mouth so easily, as if she did not have to think of what to say to speak to him. He let out another chuckle, looking at her straight in the eyes. 

“Is that so?” He raised a fair eyebrow at her, sitting as tall and elegant as ever. “Then am I exciting?” 

She opened her mouth in disbelief, letting out another musical laugh, but she did not answer. Valar, he could not take his eyes off her. She was sitting there, so close to him. For the first time in his life he felt an urge to wrap his arms around her, to hold her close to him, to let his hand touch her long golden hair and finally find out how it felt between his fingers. But at the same time he felt scared to touch her, her body looking so delicate that he felt scared to break her, scared that she might disappear. He simply wanted her to continue speaking, to tell him anything, things about her, things she liked, anything. Instead, he remained sitting tall next to her, as peaceful and elegant as ever. Valar, what was wrong with him? What was she doing to him?

“Do you usually come do your paperwork out in the gardens?” She changed the subject of the conversation, leaving him without the answer he had secretly wanted to hear. Her voice was no longer mocking of teasing, but peaceful and casual, a soothing conversation. A soft smile adorned her lips as she looked into his ice blue eyes with the same ease as ever. 

“No, not usually.” He found himself answering in the same calmed tone. It was so easy to talk to her. Her curious eyes continued to look at him, waiting for him to continue. “I usually do such task in my study, but today I decided to come out here.” 

She let out another chorus of chuckles, absently placing a strand of her wet hair behind her ear. “Sorry that I interrupted your peaceful working time.” 

He smiled at her in return, waving off her apology with a graceful movement of his hand. She had proceeded to curiously examine the embroidery on his robe. 

“Forgive me for asking, but what kind of paperwork were you reading?” Her large bright eyes looked at his with real curiosity, and once again he felt the urge to just take her in his arms. She was not teasing him, not speaking playfully, or flirting openly as she had done a couple of time. No. She was simply looking at him, her eyes like vast welcoming forests, her vivid smile still present on her lips. 

“You may ask anything you wish, Alarya.” He said with a chuckle, staring into her welcoming yet unreadable eyes. “Those are reports from our trades. I can assure you they are not very interesting to read.” 

She laughed openly at his answer. “They do not sound very interesting to read.” Then her expression changed, her eyes sparkling with mischief once again as she raised a golden eyebrow at him. “I may ask anything I wish, you say?” 

It was his turn to laugh. “Yes you may ask. Although I did not say that I would answer.” 

She leaned closer to him, as if too look deeper into his eyes and for a moment he felt confused, not knowing what she was doing, although he kept his expression tranquil. 

“Favorite color?”

What? He was sure he could not mask his surprise from showing on his face. Favorite color? He did not have a favorite color. 

“Do not have one.” He found himself answering but before he could really understand the nature of her question she was already bombarding him with a new one. 

“Favorite fruit?” 

He was confused again. 

“Grapes.” 

She was still leaning close to him, her eyes staring deeply into his eyes, as if reading whether or not his answers where true. He could not look away from her eyes, hoping for her to come closer, to allow him to hold her in his arms, to press his lips against hers and find out how that felt like. 

“Least favorite fruit?” She asked again, not moving an inch form her spot, her flawless smile still present on her face. A light chuckle escaped his lips as he understood what she was doing before continuing to answer to her questionnaire. 

“Lemon.” 

“Why?” 

“Too sour.” 

“Favorite dessert?” 

“Lemon tart.” He let out a light laugh at her expression. He knew she had not been expecting that answer, even though it was a truthful one. 

“But you do not like lemon.” She protested, leaning close to him, as if trying to read into his eyes whether he was playing with her or telling the truth. 

“I did not say I dislike lemon. I just said it was not my favorite.” She smiled at his answer. Valar, he could not keep his eyes away from her, her large emerald eyes pulled him to look into them, to lean closer to her. She showed him another one of her flawless smiles that lighted her eyes with a brightness that would put the sun to shame. 

“Fine, Thranduil, I believe you.” She let out a chorus of chuckles as she spoke, although her voice did not sound at all as if she had believed him. “Favorit-

“What is this questionnaire?” He interrupted her, not able to contain a light laugh. “It is my turn to ask.” 

“Alright.” She said as her emerald irises eyed him suspiciously, as if trying to anticipate his questions, her smile never leaving her face. 

“Favorite color?” He looked straight into her large emerald eyes, falling into the pull from her smile, from her sparkling irises. 

“Do not have one.” She answered almost immediately, never looking away from his eyes. She was so close to him. 

“Favorite fruit?” 

“Grapes.” 

“Least favorite fruit?” 

“Lemon.” 

He raised an eyebrow, but her expression did not change. 

“Favorite dessert?”

“Lemon tart.”

He let out a chuckle, his smile widening into a grin. 

“Stop repeating my answers.” He final said, only managing to receive another chorus of chuckles. 

“Stop repeating my questions.” She said in return, her eyes gleaming with such life, pulling him like magnets. “My turn again, since you ran out of questions.” 

He was not really listening to her, simply staring at her, unable to look away. Her wet golden hair fell over her shoulders in waterfall of slight waves, dripping over the fine velvet of his robe. Her pale skin looked like porcelain, so soft. Her eyes so bright. And her lips….Valar he wanted to kiss her. He needed to know how it felt. The pull was stronger than him, but nonetheless he did not move. 

“Favorite season?” She continued asking, her smile lighting her emerald eyes, staring at him so easily, so naturally. 

“Spring.” He found himself answering once more, no longer caring what she asked him. He would answer anyway. 

“Rain or snow?” 

“Rain.” 

“Favor-

Then, before he even knew what he was doing, before he could even stop himself, he was leaning closer to her. She did not move, slightly stunned by his sudden closeness, her eyes still looking at his, not hesitating. He could feel his lips brushing against hers, and he closed the gap, pressing his lips to hers, gently, almost tentatively. For a second she did not move, and he feared he had done something wrong. And then, she was kissing him back, gently, so gently, leaning in to him. 

 

Then, she suddenly pulled away, leaning back some distance from him. He froze, unsure of what he had done to get that reaction. Her large green eyes looked scared, stunned, and for a moment, there was no sign of her usual confidence. No. She looked entirely surprised, entirely confused, her head no longer held high, her shoulders no longer pushed back. He felt about to panic, suddenly regretting his action. But he did not move, too scared to do anything else to push her away from him. 

“I am sorry, Your Majesty.” She said in a nervous tone, quickly brushing a hand through her wet strands of golden hair, as if suddenly remembering her proper manners. Your Majesty? Two seconds ago he had been only Thranduil. Now he was back to ‘Your Majesty’? The way she had addressed him hurt him more than any insult. And yet he did not say anything. He did not know what to say. 

“I am sorry, my Lord. I am…”She continued to apologize. She looked so confused, her hands trembling slightly. Why was she suddenly panicking? Had she not wanted him to kiss her? Did she only feel friendship for him? But she had kissed him back. “I am sorry….I cannot….you are my King!” 

She had risen to her feet and walked to the edge of the gazebo, looking at the curtain of rain falling outside. So now he was her King. She reached a trembling hand to her lips, as if trying to clear her mind. 

“So now I am your King.” He suddenly said, surprised at the low sound of his usually powerful voice. “Two minutes ago I was Thranduil.” He wanted to kick himself hard. He should not have kissed her. She would not want to speak to him again, he had pushed her away. He was an idiot. 

She turned around, although she did not walk closer to him. Her large emerald eyes were confused, troubled, and entirely unreadable. She was scared, he could see it. But of what? Was she scared of him? She reached a hand to her head, her fingers tangling in her wet golden hair. 

“I do not…Thranduil, please…” 

“See?” He slowly rose from the chaise, but did not walk to her, afraid that he would drive her away. “Am I just Thranduil, or am I your King? I need to know so that I can act accordingly.” 

She simply looked at him, looking desperate, looking scared and confused, as if she could not answer his question. He maintained a straight face, standing tall, once again a King. 

“I..” She started. “Thranduil…you are my King. You will always be my King. I do enjoy talking with you, I do, more than talking to anyone else…but I cannot….” 

He had never felt so confused, had never felt so terrible, so hurt. He did not show it, simply standing there, looking at her large scared green eyes. 

“Why?” He asked before he even knew he had spoken. 

“Thranduil…”She breathed out almost apologetically. Why did she keep addressing him by name? Had she not pointed out that he was her King? Was that not the reason why she had pulled away so quickly? What did she want? “I cannot do this. I do not want to be Queen. I do not even want to have that possibility, or come close to it….I am sorry.” 

So that was it. It was not him. It was the crown. Then why was she so friendly? He could not understand her. Her words felt like salt spread on a deep wound. Once again he did not show it, did not show anything. She looked at him for a moment, as if waiting for him to say something, but he did not. 

“I have to go, my Lord.” She finally said, turning around to leave. 

It was then that he reacted, and he wished for the rest of his life that he had said something different, that he had said anything except what he said. He did not really know why he said it. Perhaps it was the first thing that came to his mind? Or perhaps he felt so hurt he wanted to be cold and distant? 

“You still have my robe, my Lady.” 

He did not mean to say that. He did not care about the garment. He knew he should not have asked for it. And still, he had asked for it in return. His voice had sounded cold, calmed, the same powerful tone he used during councils or meetings, the tone of a King. His words had been formal, as the expression on his face. Perhaps too formal. He knew he would later regret these words, regret this action, but at this moment he could not take himself to regret it. He felt hurt, rejected. It was a feeling almost entirely new to him. He was not used to being hurt, not like this. 

Alarya stopped in her march, turning to look at him. She did not say anything, as her sad green eyes stared at him, as if knowing that she would not be speaking to him again, that their informal and casual conversations were over. He hated that look in her eyes, hated to know that she would most probably never address him by his first name as casually as he had done this afternoon. Then, without another word, she removed the rich velvet robe from her shoulders, placing it silently on the chaise instead of handing it to his hands, and then, without even a sparing a glance back she dashed away, running into the curtain of heavy rain the way she had come, slowly disappearing from his view. 

He was left there, once again alone in the gorgeous gazebo, knowing that no one would come looking for him here. He reached for the fine elegant robe, and gripping it forcefully into his hands he threw it into the rain, watching as the heavy drops drummed over it, slowly soaking it, mud staining its rich green color, the color of her eyes.


	4. Silence

Alarya placed one foot in front of the other. The long steps to the Main Entrance of the Palace stretched majestically in front of her, carved into stone in perfect craft. The pouring rain made her long cloak feel heavier than usual, the water sliding down the long steps like prancing waterfalls. It had been raining mostly every day for the past month, which had done little to cheer her gray mood. 

She let her eyes follow the tall figure of her father, walking in front of her. For the first time in her life she dreaded this majestic ascent towards the Palace, knowing that the only elf in Mirkwood she most wished to avoid at that time so happened to reside in there. No, not only reside. This was his Palace. There would be no way to avoid seeing him once inside those splendid halls. 

To her horror, the reason she was now marching into her moment of trial was because her father sought to speak with the Elvenking about moving into the Palace. Yes, moving. The forests outside the Mirkwood gates were not as safe as they used to be, even though patrols secured the borders day and night. It had been some years now that her father had considered the King’s multiple offers for them to move into the Palace –given that her father was a high-ranking warrior and Lord. As if it was not already bad enough to have to face the King, let alone reside in the same building. At least the Palace was so large she hoped to find a way to avoid seeing the King. 

Much too sooner than she had wished, Alarya found herself stepping into the overly large Main Hall. A servant at the door took their soaking cloaks from them, as another elf met them at the top of the steps–of higher rank judging by his robes. 

“Lord Lasgaer.” The elf bowed his head in greeting before turning to face her and her mother. “My Ladies.” 

She nodded her head, imitating her mother, and the strange elf continued speaking to her father, not giving them more than that single look. “I am afraid my King Thranduil is holding a council meeting at this moment and is not able to welcome you himself. His Majesty has received the letter you sent in advance, and will be seeing you later this afternoon, my Lord. In the meantime, I will show you to your rooms, and a meal has already been sent for you to enjoy in private.” 

Her father said something in response, but Alarya did not pay attention. Oh, thank the Valar for that council. She was sure she had never received better news than to hear she would not be seeing Thranduil - at least for some hours. And strangely enough, part of her felt disappointed. Part of her wanted to lay eyes upon him once more, to talk to him again. 

The chambers they had been assigned were, well, large. Then again, everything in this Palace was grand and elegant, every single detail perfectly thought of. Both of her parents gladly accepted the offered meal, but she was not hungry. Casually, she excused herself, deciding to take a walk through the Palace to clear her mind. 

To say that the Palace was large was an understatement. As soon as she had stepped out of the set of chambers that her family occupied, she had found herself lost. She had been there a couple of times before, and still had not managed to learn where anything was. But that was fine. She did not need a destination, no. She simply needed to wonder around, as aimless as her confused thoughts. 

It had been three weeks since she had last seen the King. Three weeks since she had fled from his presence. Three weeks since he had kissed her. The sole thought of the kiss made her feel that accursed fluttering in her stomach, accompanied by the same irrational fear it always brought to her. Oh, she had liked that kiss. She had kissed him back. And yet, it was exactly that what scared her the most. She had never felt so confused in her life. 

True, she did not want to be Queen. She was deadly scared of having that possibility. But what scared her the most was the realization that had come with that simple, gentle kiss: For him, she would accept any tittle. And that was what frightened her, what prevented from sleeping at night, from concentrating right now as she walked aimlessly through the halls. She would be wiling to become Queen -something she was deeply sure she did not want- only for him. She would be willing to sacrifice her freedom, her independence, for him. And She could not allow that to happen, could not allow someone to have such power over her, make her want to do things she was sure she did not want. Valar, she could not let him have this control over her, make her willing to do things she had never wanted to do, make her want to give up things she had been sure she would never want to give up. 

But then again, becoming Queen was no longer a possibility. She had successfully made sure of that, openly rejecting him. Then why did she not feel any better? Oh, she had liked him since the moment she had met him. Everything about him fascinated her, and, curious as she was, she had wanted to know more. And then, the moment his lips had touched hers she had confirmed her greatest fear. He was the one she would come to love. She had already felt that slight awakening of her spirit, the catalyst of a bond, as if in rebellion to her mind. Even if she tried her hardest, she would not be able to escape from it. He was the one with whom her spirit would bond, and she had already felt it. There was no going back. 

Yet, it had been three weeks since she had last known of him. She had sent the usual short letter the day after the ‘incident’, as she did every morning. This time she had not received an answer. She had sent two more – the two following days- and had also been left waiting for a reply that never came. After that, she had sent no more letters, and their casual daily conversations had gone silent. Oh, Valar, she did not want to be in the Palace. 

She did not know for how long she had been walking when she had reached a large hall showing a majestic pair of beautifully carved wooden doors. She stopped as she watched the two guards flanking the doors suddenly opening them wide, letting a group of finely dressed elves elegantly march out of the room, still discussing among each other. Alarya felt her heart skip a beat, and she only wished that her presence would be overlooked among the other servants and maids that walked by her through the hall. The Council meeting had ended, and the court members were now exiting the grand Council Room. 

And then, she saw him. There he was, the mighty Elvenking, as tall and elegant as ever. His silvery-blue formal robes brushed the floor as he gracefully walked out of the room, every single one of his movements so effortless, so vaporous. The majestic crown rested neatly on his head, even though he did not need it to look royal and powerful. There he was. Thranduil, her King. 

His eyes met hers, easily spotting her standing motionless in the hall. Ice blue irises pierced through hers, so cold, so impenetrable, like hard ice over crystalline waters. She had never before felt so observed, his eyes penetrating her with a force and power she had not thought possible, and at the same time, she could not read anything in them. Nothing. Not even his expression changed, his face as serene and composed as ever. He contemplated her for a second, the hardest second of her life, and then, with only a curt and cold nod of his head in acknowledgement, he turned away, looking back to the front. He simply walked away, reassuming his talk with an elf to his right, without even another glance, without even a word. Nothing.

She did not know how she managed to return to her chambers, nor she knew how she managed to go through with the remaining of the day. The King’s cold silence had been far worse than any hurtful word. Oh, what she would give to know what had gone through his mind as he looked in her eyes. But she knew that seeing through the Elvenking’s composed expression was impossible. Valar, the world could be crumbling to pieces around him and he would be able to hide his thoughts. She felt like shouting at someone, anger boiling inside of her at his indifference towards her. That was rude! 

That was it. She would go talk to him. He would listen to her. She could not handle the situation anymore; it was already too depressing to not receive letters in return, but silence? Oh, no. She would go talk to him. True, it had been her the one to pull away from him, but not even her pride could handle her emotions any longer. 

She stormed to the door of her bedroom, and then as soon as her hand touched the golden knob she stopped. No, she would not go. She did not want to see him. She did not even know what she would say to him. She had firmly pointed to him that he was her King and that was the way it would continue to be. She would not go back on her words. No. 

But then again, the moment his eyes had met hers had been at the same time so painful and fascinating. Once again she had found herself paralyzed under his piercing glacial gaze, as if in a daze. Only the Valar knew how she had managed to remain standing with her head high, with as much dignity as she could muster. Even if it had been a short second, his distant gesture of acknowledgement had hurt more than a sharp dagger. She would talk to him. Yes, she would. She would at least try to talk to him, to see if he would talk to her. She missed his voice, missed their little conversations, missed knowing about him. 

Yes, she would go talk to him. She reached for the doorknob again, trying to focus her mind on her decision. Oh, but what if he did not want to talk to her? That would be humiliating, to say the least. She let go of the doorknob again. Elbereth, what was wrong with her! Why could she not make up her mind! 

She would go. That was it. Before she had time to doubt herself again, Alarya reached for the doorknob, pushing the door open without thinking it twice. It took all of her willpower to keep herself walking once again down the long corridors. She could not even think of what she would say, but she knew that if she stopped to think she would turn around and go back to her chambers. 

She had needed to ask a maid to show her the way to arrive at the long corridor that led to the King’s study. Alarya was sure she had never felt this nervous before. However, all of her nerves quickly turned into surprise as the tall blond elf she usually saw beside the King suddenly grabbed her by the arm. 

“My Lady, may I help you with something?” His voice was polite and his dark blue eyes held hers easily and steadily, patient, and yet clearly indicating her that she was in a section of the Palace that should be off-limits to her. 

“I would like to see the King.” She answered, trying to sound as confident as she could. Oh, who was she fooling, there was no way they would let her waltz into the King’s study just because she wanted to. 

“My King cannot receive you at the moment, my Lady. So I will ask you to please retire and you will be notified when he can see to you.” The blond elf said in his overly patient, yet strong voice. When he can see to her? She would be notified when he could see to her? And why not now? 

“If he is busy, I can wait here for as long as it takes.” She found herself answering. She did not like being sent away, even though she knew it was what she should do. She knew she had no right in demanding to see the King if he did not wish to receive her. 

“My Lady, the King will not be seeing anyone today. Now is not a good time. Please leave.” The elf insisted. She felt entirely defeated. Ugh, she knew that if she left she would not be able to gather the courage to come back at a different time. 

Just as she was about to ask again, two dark haired elves walked past them, heading straight in the direction of the King’s study. For a second she was about to protest that why did they not get stopped like her, but then she recognized one of the elves. It was the head healer. She did not know his name, but he had been the one who had stitched Thranduil’s hand during the solstice celebration. 

“How strong was it? How long did it last?” She could hear the healer asking the other elf as they hurried towards the large pair of doors.

“Strong. Perhaps this was the strongest one he has suffered in years. You must hurry.” Her insides grew cold as she overheard the answer. 

She wanted to hear more, but she could no longer catch their words, both of the elves slipping into the study unannounced. Strong? Strong what? She had no idea what to make of their words. Pretending that she had not heard, she turned around, walking back the way she had come at a fast pace, trying her best to ignore the watchful dark blue eyes that followed her. 

That night, the Elvenking did not show up for dinner. She had spent the entire meal throwing discrete glances at the empty throne-like chair at the head of the table. She did not know if she felt relieved that she did not have to face him yet, or disappointed that she could not let her eyes wonder over his long light blond hair or his powerful ice blue eyes. 

Alarya spent the entire meal trying to think of what she would say to him, or even worse, trying to imagine what he would say to her. But she had no need for her practiced words. Thranduil did not show up. Neither did he attend any of the meals the next day, the throne-like chair remaining as empty as it had the night before. Yet, none of the elves in the Palace seemed curious about the King’s unexplained absence. No. In fact, this seemed to be a normal occurrence to them.

Curious as she was, Alarya had found herself wondering the long corridors and halls throughout the entire day, hoping to find out about the whereabouts of the King. He was not in his study. The entire corridor had been empty when she had walked by, the absence of the guards flaking the large wooden doors indicating her that the room had not been used that day. She had also learned that there had been no council that day, nor had there been any kind of formal meeting that required his presence. She had searched the library, the throne room, the gardens. The only thing that told her Thranduil was still inside the Palace was the sight of a maid carrying a large tray with untouched food from the direction of the Private Quarters – a place she knew was off limits to her. 

So he was in his private chambers. That was where he had been the entire day. But why? No, it was none of her business to inquire about that. But then again, why? What was he doing there? She had seen the head healer going into his study the day before, and that tall blond elf had told her ‘My King cannot receive you at the moment’. Was Thranduil all right? Was he injured? No. I was none of her business. None of her business. 

And so, she found herself once again wondering through the Palace the next day. This time, however, as she walked down the familiar long corridor, she found one of the large pair of wooden doors that led to the King’s study completely open. She quickly glanced around her. There was nobody around; no guards, no by passers. She carefully approached the room, eager to finally peek inside, her body driven by childish curiosity. 

Alarya silently stepped into the doorway, not really daring to walk inside. The large study was empty, just as she had assumed it would be, and thus she let her eyes wonder about the space. This was one room in the Palace she had never seen before. Tall windows adorned the majestic walls, and she could see an oversized balcony in one end of the room, letting the golden sunlight cascade freely into the space. Her eyes fell on the large oak desk in the room, neat piles of paper sitting upon the polished surface. So this was where he worked. 

She decided she better leave before she was spotted peeking inside places where she had not been invited. Alarya turned around, jumping suddenly as she realized that she was not alone. No. Standing there, directly behind her, was no other than the Elvenking himself, in all of his glory. Oh, Valar. She had not heard him approach, but then again he had not announced his presence either. 

She froze, suddenly standing up straighter. His ice blue eyes met hers easily, impenetrable, so calmed and unreadable. His handsome face was peaceful, as unreadable as his eyes. For a second she did not know what to do, but she did not dare break the stare. Oh, no. She would not shy away from his piercing eyes, trying to keep as little dignity as she could after being caught spying when she had not been invited. He did not look angry. But then again, he did look happy or sad or anything. He just looked…regal. 

He motioned for her to enter the room with a silent, graceful movement of his hand. Oh, Valar, why did she always get herself in these awkward situations? Attempting to look as tall and confident as she could, she walked inside the room, trying to not look impressed by its grandeur. 

Thranduil followed her inside, closing the door behind him. She turned to face him, even though what she really wanted was to run and crawl under the desk, where he could not find her. He looked as tall and royal as ever, dressed in rich robes of gorgeous opaque green and wine red. He did not look at all injured, not even slightly tired. Nothing. He looked perfectly fine. 

“Doronor informed me you wanted to talk to me?” He said as he motioned for her to take one the comfortable seats near the large fireplace. Oh, the sound of his voice made her want to melt. It was not cold and distant, as it had been in the gardens after she had walked away from him, but it was not as warm and open as it had been before that incident. 

She simply nodded her head, lowering herself onto one of the seats as he saw him sit in front of her. 

“I am listening.” He said patiently. She remained quiet, lost in his piercing ice blue eyes. What did she want to say? She suddenly could not remember any of her practiced speeches. Or even if she could, she suddenly lacked the courage to say them. Yes, she had wanted to talk to him, but about what? About nothing. She just wanted to talk to him, the same way she had talked to him three weeks before, easily, casually. But now, as she found herself sitting in front of her King, she had nothing to say. 

“Alarya?” He said after a long moment of silence. She remained silent. Her name. So he was not cutting her off entirely. This was her chance to say she was sorry for walking away, that she did not want to avoid him any longer, that she wanted to continue their casual conversations. This was her chance to say something, anything. And yet, she did not. Valar, what was she doing? She was merely wasting both of their time. 

A knock sounded on the door, and Thranduil looked at her for a moment, as if waiting to see if she would say anything. She remained silent. Another knock. 

“Enter.” Thranduil finally called, as if knowing she would not be talking. 

A dark haired elf stepped inside the room, stopping a few paces into the large study to deliver his message. 

“The representatives from Dale are here, my Lord.” 

“Thank you, Cunir. I will be there in a moment.” 

With that, the elegant dark haired elf bowed and silently left the room, closing the door behind him. For a second, Thranduil did not move, as if waiting one last moment for her to say anything. 

“Alarya?” So this was it. Her time was up. He would stand and leave. He was expected somewhere else. And yet, here he was, stretching the short minutes to wait for any kind of word to leave her mouth. 

“Alarya, I have to go.” His voice was gentle, patient, but he did not move, giving her one last chance. “Are you going to talk to me?” 

She remained silent. 

“Are you going to say anything?” 

Silence again. What was wrong with her? Was she going to say anything? Yes! I’m sorry! I want to keep having casual conversations with you! I do not want to push you away! And yet, she remained silent, for the first time loosing her courage to speak, a thing that usually came naturally to her…perhaps sometimes too naturally, and often getting her in trouble.

Thranduil let out a sigh, rising to his feet in front of her, so tall, so handsome. 

“What are you doing?” He breathed out, his voice barely audible. It was a real question, not a demand, not an accusation. It was a real question that he could not seem to answer for himself. “You walk away telling me that you do not want any kind of relationship with me, and then you come looking for me when I am trying to follow your wishes. And now you have nothing to say. You will not even talk to me. How am I supposed to know what you want? What are you playing at?” 

His words had been low, none of them hostile. He shook his head lightly, finally turning around and heading out of the room, leaving her alone in the large space, alone with her pain and regret. Why had she not said anything? 

For the next four days she avoided any kind of interaction with him. She stayed away form his usual paths, away from the rooms he frequented. Even at meals she restrained her eyes form looking in his direction, too ashamed to meet his piercing ice blue stare. But he did not look in her direction either, carrying on with his light conversations with the elves seated next to him without the slightest trouble, as if she was not there. 

It had continued to rain, mostly every day. In fact it was raining that precise night. The heavy curtain of water had started earlier that afternoon and had not stopped since. She was siting quietly in one of the many terraces, watching as the rain drummed on the gardens ahead. A loud thunder would echo through the forests every once in a while. She had visited this particular terrace nearly every night, after finding out that it was one of the least frequented places in the Palace and it was always completely empty. And this night was no different. It was late, much too late for the elves at the Palace to be awake. 

She lifted her eyes from the book she had been reading, once again watching the dark gardens, obscured by the heavy rain. This time, however, something different caught her eye: a figure, walking in the rain as if the raging storm did not bother him. She immediately stood, her surprise and worry suddenly taking the best of her. What was he doing out in the rain? Was he insane? 

The Elvenking was walking in her direction, slowly, as if it was not raining at all. His long light blond hair was plastered to his head, darkened by the water, and even in the distance she could see the mud staining his drenched robes. He was walking in her direction, his hands cupped in front of him, as if he was holding something in them. 

“What are you doing?!” She called as soon as he as within hearing distance, for a second forgetting that she was talking to her King. “Get out of the rain!” 

His ice blue eyes met hers, as steadily and easily as always, impenetrable. He continued his march, climbing up the steps of the terrace in her direction. A large puddle followed his steps, water dripping from him and onto the polished marble floor. He stood there, in front of her, tall and wet. She once again fell silent, just looking into his eyes, no longer finding words. And then, he extended his cupped hands, as if offering her the strange assortment of things he carried there. There was a broken twig, some leaves, a small stone, even an acorn, all of the items drenched and covered in mud. She looked back into his eyes, trying desperately to understand. 

“There are no pinecones in my gardens.” He finally said, his ice blue eyes staring directly at hers, looking apologetic. “I could not find a single one. So I brought you these instead.” 

She did not know what to say, it was as if she had been hit hard on the head. 

“Will you please talk to me?” His voice was gentle, a plea, not the commanding or powerful tone of a King. She could not move, could not look away from his ice blue eyes. “You do not have to like me, you do not even have to be friendly, but would you please stop avoiding me? Just talk to me. Say anything.” 

She once felt stunned, dazed, unable to react. She had never felt this way before, and she could not name what she was feeling. Suddenly, for the first time, she wanted to throw her arms around his neck, to cling to him, to remember the feeling of his lips against hers. But she could not move, felt too stunned. Instead, she said the most ridiculous and stupid thing she could have said. 

“You brought all of that, and you could not think of bringing a single flower?” 

A new expression crossed his face, and his ice blue eyes immediately lowered to his cupped hands. Then he looked up at her, looking apologetic for his mistake. Then he turned, heading out once again into the rainy gardens, but she stopped him by the arm before he could walk out in the rain. 

“No, no!” She said, and he turned again to face her, confused. She let out a chuckle, unable to contain her smile any longer. “I do not want you to get me a flower.” 

Her eyes met his, so deep and welcoming, so gorgeous. She wanted him to kiss her, but she knew he would not do that again, at least not without knowing for sure that she would not walk away from him for a second time. 

“Yes.” She finally said, unable to look away from his ice blue eyes. “Yes, I will talk to you. I will not avoid you, Thranduil.” 

She used his name. True, she was scared of loving him, was scared of the chance of becoming Queen, but if there was one thing she was sure of was that he was not her King. She could not think of him only as her King. She had tried, and she had suffered every second of it. So, however this would end, she would at least try. She knew there was no way back, and it would not be an easy road, but she also knew that for him, she would be willing to try anything. 

He smiled at her, his ice blue eyes lighting like stars on the rainy night. He did not kiss her, as she wanted to, did not embrace her, or touch her in any way. It was as if he did not want to spoil his luck with a wrong move. He turned around to head back inside the Palace, but then quickly turned on his heels to face her once more. Silently, he deposited all the muddy pieces of forest on her hands, leaving her chuckling and confused. 

“What…”She said as he turned around and headed back inside the Palace. “What am I supposed to do with this, Thranduil?” She let out a light laugh at the irrationality of the situation. 

“Nothing.” She heard him call out as he disappeared inside the large halls, leaving a wet and muddied trail behind him. “That was the point of pinecones, was it not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter for your sweet dreams! goodnight! :)


	5. Turn

The Elvenking dropped himself on the elegant chair behind his large oak desk. He was tired, and definitely not in his best mood. His sixth meeting of the day had just ended only minutes ago. Yes, sixth. How he managed to go through six meetings and not go insane, only the Valar knew. And as if that was not enough, he had spent his entire morning hearing audiences from his people at the throne room. 

Thranduil placed his elbows on the polished surface, holding his head in his hands. Oh, he would talk to Doronor in the morning. Scheduling six meetings in one day! Was his advisor trying to kill him? And to his further irritation, he had missed dinner. Nothing could make the King’s mood any sourer than having to miss the evening meal because of a meeting or council. Lunch he could manage, but dinner!? 

A timid knock sounded on the door of his study, and the Elvenking had to use nearly all of his self-control not to yell at the poor elf on the other side. What else could anyone else need from him today?! Was it not already late enough?! He had only just gotten to his study to drop some important papers on his desk and there was already someone knocking on his door. Thranduil closed his eyes for a second, searching to calm himself down before answering. 

“Enter.” He said in his usual strong yet perfectly calmed voice, sitting up straight on his chair. If it was Doronor, his friend and him would have a very very long talk. 

The door opened almost immediately, only wide enough for an elf he did not recognize to slip inside the room, stopping only two steps from the door. The Elvenking looked at the elf expectantly, and to his amusement, the moment his eyes met the newcomer’s, the latter lowered his to the carpet, bowing respectfully. Thranduil felt the edge of his lips twitching upwards at the elf’s reaction. The newcomer was terrified of him. At least he would enjoy himself for a couple of minutes. 

“Yes?” The King spoke expectantly, letting his ice blue eyes pierce through the poor young elf, who remained with his eyes fixed on the carpet. 

“I have come to ask if my Lord will be having his meal sent to his chambers or here.” The elf’s eyes never lifted from the carpet, but at least his voice was loud enough and perfectly understandable. The Elvenking had to make an effort not to let his amusement show on his face, keeping his perfectly composed expression. Why was the young elf so terrified of him? Oh, this was going to be fun. 

“My chambers will be fine.” He answered in his usual authoritative and serene voice, sitting tall on his chair. The young elf bowed his head in understanding, turning to leave the room immediately but the King stopped him before he could even take one step. 

“Have I dismissed you?” 

The elf immediately turned around, his naïve hazel eyes giving away his surprise and nerves, bowing his head again quickly. 

“No, my Lord.” The elf answered, his voice panicky and once again Thranduil had to concentrate to maintain a straight face. It never ceased to amuse him how the young servants of his Palace acted so edgy and scared around him as if someone had told them that he would throw them in the dungeons if they did something that displeased him. 

Holding back a chuckle, the King of Mirkwood turned his attention back to his desk, sorting out some papers into neat piles. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the young scared elf standing awkwardly near the door, looking as if he had just been placed in the most uncomfortable position in his life. Oh, poor elf. It was not the elf’s fault that he had had such a terrible day and was in such a sour mood, but then again he was enjoying the situation immensely. Finally deciding that the poor elf had had enough torturing he turned again to face him, letting his face look somewhat softer than before. 

“You may be dismissed.” He announced, his voice also sounding gentler. The young elf did not wait to be told a second time, quickly bowing his head and disappearing through the door. 

Thranduil let out a sigh, his slender fingers massaging his forehead tiredly as he slumped back on his chair. Oh, Valar, he was going to kill Doronor. He was absolutely exhausted. It took nearly all of his willpower to rise from his chair and walk out of the room before he could fall asleep sitting right there. 

“I am retiring for the night.” He informed the guards outside his door, who simply nodded their heads in understanding. “I am not to be disturbed.” The guards nodded their heads again but he did not turn, elegantly making his way down the long corridor. 

A small smile appeared on his face as his thoughts quickly drifted to a certain golden haired Lady. It had been close to two weeks since he had come looking for Alarya on one of the terraces of the Palace, soaked in rainwater and carrying muddy pieces of the forest in his hands. After that, they had started meeting in that same terrace at the end of the day, or whenever he had some time off. Little did she know that that specific terrace was one of the terraces adjoining the Private Quarters of the Palace, thus the reason it was always empty. But he did not mind her using it. He did not mind at all. Sometimes it was him the one to find her waiting in terrace, always on the same long chaise and reading one of the many books in his library, and others it was she the one to find him waiting for her. 

Those meetings were always the best part of his day, and even though he would not admit it out loud, he found himself overly disappointed in those days in which their spare times did not coincide. Talking to her was so refreshing, so easy and relaxing. There was never a set time to meet, and never a specific topic to discuss. Sometimes their conversations lasted hours, and sometimes only minutes. 

Just as he had expected, he found Alarya gracefully lounging on her preferred chaise, her stunning emerald green eyes lost behind the pages of a book. The Elvenking stopped at the entrance of the terrace for a moment, not wanting to make his presence announced yet. His ice blue eyes watched her for a second, taking in her entire appearance. She looked so peaceful, her long golden hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back and her weightless pale blue dress lay sprawled around her like solid water. She looked so delicate her pale skin seeming to be made of fine porcelain. 

He knew she had heard him approaching, for her large forest green eyes lifted in his direction, easily finding his with their usual steadiness and light. She flashed him one of her flawless smiles as he walked in her direction, his silver formal robes brushing the floor behind him. Thranduil watched her close the book she had been reading, silently handing it to him, and he found himself accepting it with a chuckle and placing it on a nearby table. 

“You missed dinner.” She commented, sitting up straighter as he lowered himself on his usual seat. For the first time that day he let his annoyance show as he dropped his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, his fingers unconsciously massaging his forehead again. 

He heard Alarya let out a chorus of chuckles, the sound like tiny silver bells floating in the fresh night air. Then, he heard her stand up from her spot at the chaise and walk in his direction, taking the seat next to him. 

“You look tired, Thranduil.” She added and he lifted his head to gaze into her eyes, waving off her observation with a graceful movement of his hand. 

“How was dinner?” He asked her, sitting back comfortably on his seat. Her bright green eyes met his once more, easily and steadily, making every other object in the terrace or gardens ahead not worth looking at. How she managed to make him feel so peaceful and comfortable when she was around only the Valar knew. 

“I do not know. I did not attend and had dinner with my family in our chambers instead.” She confessed, her eyes sparkling vividly, as alive as the green forests ahead, flashing him another one of her flawless smiles. 

“Then how do you know I was not present?” It was his turn to smile, raising a questioning eyebrow at her. 

“That is hardly confidential information.” She mocked him, the grin on her face reaching her endless emerald eyes. Oh, Valar, he wanted to hold her close to him, to lace his fingers with hers, to finally press his lips against hers for a second time, and hopefully not scare her away this time. But he did not move, remaining as tall as elegant as ever, ice blue eyes looking directly at hers. 

“Lord Doronor informed me of that.” She mentioned as if it was irrelevant. “He mentioned that one of your meetings had extended longer than estimated and that you would not be free until a late hour.” 

“Ah, so he did.” Oh, he was definitely going to kill Doronor now. What else had his friend been telling Alarya? Apparently she was well informed of his entire schedule. “Well, if you would accompany me, Alarya, I can have my dinner brought here.” 

“I would love to.” Was her answer, and he rose from his seat to summon one of the guards standing at the entrance to the Private Quarters and sending the new instructions to the kitchens. He returned only a couple of seconds after, once again lowering himself on the comfortable seat he had previously occupied. 

“You really do look tired, Thranduil.” She pointed out again, her voice a perfect melody, carrying the characteristic edge of authority and stubbornness it always did. 

“You go through six meetings in one afternoon and then tell me how you would look.” He muttered in return, narrowing his ice blue eyes as his sour mood took hold of him again. 

To his surprise she laughed. Yes, she laughed at him. Her musical laughter floated in the air like a glorious symphony, making him chuckle along. Oh, Valar, he would never understand her. His ice blue eyes followed her attentively as she rose from her seat and lowered herself upon the armrest of his seat, to his right. He eyed her carefully, trying to predict what was on her mind, but he could read nothing behind her sparkling emerald eyes. She was so close he just wanted to reach for her and pull her into his arms. 

“Come here.” He heard her saying in a low voice, letting out a faint chuckle. Much to his surprise and confusion he felt her delicate hand gently guiding his head to rest on her lap. What was she doing? The Elvenking found himself too surprised and much too confused to say anything or pull back from her. 

He felt so comfortable, and at the same time so puzzled. He did not want to move, not yet understanding her actions. The soft fabric of her dress pressed against his cheek, and he could feel the warmth of her skin underneath it. And then, before he had time to further ponder on those sensations, he felt her delicate tender fingers sliding through his hair. 

Never before had he felt this confused, this petrified and surprised in his life. What was she-? Was she stroking his hair? Her gentle fingers slide once again through his long light blond hair, he could feel them tenderly moving down his head, the feeling the most soothing he had ever felt. Yes, she was definitely stroking his hair. No one ever stroke his hair, only his mother had when he was but a very young elfling, in fact no one ever touched him in any intimate or affectionate manner -he was the King. The feeling was almost entirely new to him, leaving him confused and stunned. He did not move. He did not want to move. Valar, it felt so soothing, so welcoming, her gentle fingers sliding down his head and through his long strands of hair, without being asked to do so, simply because she wanted. His mind could not really understand such action, and yet he did not want her to ever stop. No, he wanted her to continue stroking his hair for the rest of eternity, to simply lie there with his head on her lap, where he was no longer King and there was no realm to rule, where there were no curious eyes to watch and judge his actions. 

“Stop.” He said before his mind could even finish a concrete thought, lifting his head from her lap, quickly pushing his hair behind his shoulders. Why had he said that? And then again, what had she been doing? He could not understand it. How such a simple gesture could carry so much affection? Alarya had pulled her hands away, neatly folded over her lap, but she had not moved from her spot at the armrest. She did not seem surprised at all by his reaction. 

To his relief a servant arrived at that precise moment, carrying a large silver tray filled with food and placing it on the table not too far from them. The elf bowed respectfully, and the Elvenking nodded his head slightly in a silent dismissal. 

“That looks really good.” Alarya said as she rose to her feet and made her way to the table. She seemed so tranquil, her large green eyes still sparkling with light, her smile still present on her face. She did not look at all bothered by his reaction. 

“You may have as much as you like. There is more than enough for the two of us.” He could not hold back a smile as his eyes watched her, also standing up and walking to where she waited at the table. And still, the fresh sensation of her fingers trailing through his hair was still on the back of his mind. He felt so confused, so stunned, at that mere sensation of something so simple and yet so new and difficult to understand for him. 

“I just want this.” She picked one strawberry from the plate. He waited for her to sit before lowering himself onto a chair, helping himself to the fresh pieces of fruits and cheeses on the large plate. 

“You will never guess what happened to me this afternoon, Thranduil.” She started, taking yet another strawberry from the plate. The tone of her voice and the way in which her lips twitched up at the memory made him laugh slightly, unable to take his away from hers. 

“Do I want to know?” He asked, arching an eyebrow questioningly. If there was something he had learned over the past weeks- months really- was that Alarya was capable of placing herself in the most unimaginable and embarrassing situations, and yet she managed to do so with a grace and dignity every single elf in Arda would envy. 

“Yes.” She confirmed, letting out another musical chuckle. “You will laugh –at me- but you will laugh.” 

That alone made him laugh lightly, shaking his head as he did so. 

“What did you do?” He asked, already dreading the answer. Her large green eyes looked directly at his, so easily, so steadily, once again like endless swirls of emeralds, pulling him into their liquid depths. 

“I did not do anything.” She defended herself, letting out another chuckle as she absently took yet another strawberry from the plate. He had stopped eating those without her noticing, letting her have them all instead. “I was simply walking to the library, and some elf that walked by me dropped some papers on the floor. Then, I, waning to make a good deed, picked up the ones closer to me and handed them to her and said ‘Here you go, my Lady’. But then when I looked up to hand her the papers I noticed that it was not a Lady! There was no way I could possible fix my mistake! I wanted to run!” 

“Alarya!” He exclaimed, bursting into laughter. Oh, Valar only she could make him laugh like this. 

“I was really sorry! I did not see! Someone walked past me and I just saw he was wearing something long and I thought it was a dress! I did not really look until I had already spoken!” She protested, laughing along with him, but he found that he could not answer her. The poor elf would have most probably not found her words as funny as he found them. 

“Who was it?” He managed to ask between chuckles. Only Alarya would do such a thing. 

“I have no idea.” Her eyes were large, looking apologetic and embarrassed as she spoke, and yet they sparkled vividly with the hilarity of her mistake. “I have never seen him before. You probably know him though. He looked important.” 

“And what did you do?” Valar, he would never be bored around her. 

“What could I possibly do?” She let out another fist of musical chuckles. “I apologized and walked away.” 

He simply continued laughing, trying too hard to regain his composure. After a short moment he was finally able to stop his incessant chuckling, although a wide smile remained on his face, shaking his head lightly as he gazed into her eyes. 

“Thranduil?” Her voice had suddenly lost all of its previous laughter, simply low and serious now. He simply stared into her eyes, waiting for her to continue. “Did you not like me stroking your hair?” 

What? Of course he had liked it. It had felt so soothing, so welcoming and comforting. And yet it had felt so strange and puzzling. He did not know what to answer, he did not really know what to make of such action. He was not used to it. 

“Why did you do that?” He said the only thing that came to his mind, the question he was trying so desperately to answer. Again she reacted in the way he least expected. Alarya let out a light laugh, not mocking him or teasing, a simple beautiful laugh. And yet he did not laugh along with her. No. He wanted her to answer his question. Her large emerald eyes met his, as open and endless as her smile, pulling him into their depths.

“Because.” She answered, not seeming surprised by his question, her musical voice as calmed and casual as if it was an easy answer. What? Because? He simply stared at her, his face perfectly composed, and yet his eyes remained gentle, trying to understand. 

“Do it again.” He commanded, his voice barely audible. She let out a single chuckle, flashing him her perfect smile, the one that could opaque the sun. 

The Elvenking followed her with his eyes as she sat on the armrest of his seat, moving so gracefully and casually. She waited for him to lower his head, and slowly, almost hesitantly he rested his head upon her lap, the feeling so strange and at the same time so welcoming. And there it was again, her delicate fingers tenderly sliding down his hair. It felt just as it had the first time, so soothing, so warm and relaxing. It stunned him once more, that overwhelming feeling attached to such a simple almost purposeless action. 

Once again he did not want her stop, but she did not. She remained quiet, letting her hand slide down his long strands of hair, as if she did not mind at all. Valar, why did it feel so good? His entire body had relaxed under her simple touch, his eyelids dropping closed in an unconscious reaction. The faintest of smiles drew on his lips, without him even noticing it. 

“I am going to fall asleep.” He whispered and he heard her let out a melodic chuckle in return, her hand never stopping its path down his hair. 

“Go to bed, Thranduil.” He heard her saying, her voice as soothing as her gentle hand. “You are exhausted. We can talk tomorrow.” 

Slowly, he lifted his head, although every single thought seemed to scream him to never move, to stay forever under that soothing touch, so close to her. He let out a single chuckle, watching her stand up from the armrest as he imitated her. Valar, he wanted to wrap his arms around her small body, to press her to him, to slide his own fingers down her flowing golden hair. She did not move, standing there in front of him, nearly a head shorter than him, and at the same time looking so tall and elegant, so frail and strong. He wanted to kiss her, to press his lips against her delicate ones, and yet he did not move, he did not dare to.

“Sleep well.” She said, just as she did every time they met at night. 

And then, unexpectedly for him she placed her lips to his cheeks, so quickly, so lightly, almost shy about it. Then, as quick as her kiss had been, she turned around, ready to leave. Before he could think of what he was doing he grabbed her by the arm, gently, stopping her before she could walk away. Alarya stopped immediately, turning to face him, her face surprised, watching him, trying to read through his eyes. He took a step closer to her, not letting go of her arm, his thoughts not matching his actions. She was there, so close to him, unmoving as he leaned closer to her, her face only inches away. 

Her large green eyes remained fixed on his, confused, surprised, but still she did not move, her body tensing slightly at his sudden closeness. Slowly, very slowly, his hand travelled to her cheek, caressing her soft skin so gently he was not sure he as even touching her. She trembled lightly under his touch, but once again did not move, her eyes still fixed on his, so welcoming and endless, her face so close he could feel her warmth, his nose slightly brushing hers. 

He could not hold back, and yet he moved slowly, tentatively, leaning closer to her feeling a silent tiny gasp escape from her mouth as his lips brushed hers. And then she closed the small gap, pressing her lips to his, so gently and yet so sure. And that was all he needed. He kissed her back, gently as well, wrapping his arms around her waist as he felt her own delicate arms around his neck, her fingers tangling with his hair. And in that kiss he understood so many things, as if that simple action could mock everything else in the world around them, nothing no longer seeming important. There was no why to it, as simple as her painted pinecones, as easy as her fingers sliding down his hair. And then he knew what he had already known. She was the one with whom his spirit would bond. He could feel it starting. Slowly, almost inexistent, so frail it could still break, but it was there. 

They pulled apart sooner than he had wanted, but to his greatest relief she was still in his arms this time, her face only inches away from his, her delicate arms still loose around his neck. His lips curved up in a smile, mirroring hers, his forehead resting against hers. 

“You know that a relationship with me would mean…” He did not even finish speaking, the words dying in his mouth as his eyes stared deeply into hers, hi voice barely even audible. He knew she was scared of the title, knew she did not want it.

“I know.” She whispered in return. “I do not care.”

His smile grew wider, his eyes trapped in her bright emerald ones. He leaned in again, pressing his lips to hers once more, and feeling her return the kiss. Suddenly his awful day turn out to be the best of nights. Doronor could schedule eight meetings for the next day and he would go through all of them, if at the end of the day he could see Alarya, hold her to him, kiss her.


	6. First

“Alarya!” 

She turned her head at the sound of her name, coming back to reality. Her eyes instantly found her eldest cousin’s pair of equal green, staring at her strangely. 

“It is the third time I call you. Did you not hear me the first two? What has gotten into your mind lately?” Her cousin, Agoron, said as he took some steps closer to her, his lips curving up in an amused smile. 

The gently rays of golden sunlight splattered over the marble floor of the balcony inside her chambers. All of her belongings had already been brought to the Palace, her family finally settled in permanently. She was still not entirely used to residing in the Palace, but it definitely had its good side. Her lips twitched upward involuntarily as her thoughts flew once again to a certain elf in the Palace, an elf that so happened to be the King. 

It had been a week since she had last seen the great Elvenking, a week since they had kissed….and a week since he had left the Greenwood in a haste to solve she did not know what problem in which village of men not too far away. Not that she did not understand the importance of his duties, but she could not help but thoroughly disliking the entire village –which she did not even know really- for choosing that specific day to need the King’s presence for whatever reason they had. And yet, only thinking about the kiss made her feel all of fluttery inside, making unable to smile even when she tried her hardest. 

“Yes I heard you, Agoron.” She smiled at her cousin as he reached her side, leaning his weight over the frail railing. “I was just pretending you were not here.”

Her cousin let out a musical laugh, throwing one strong arm around her small shoulders. That was just another perk she had found she liked about residing in the Palace. Her three cousins spent a lot of time here, as experienced warriors they often joined in the patrols, coming and going to the Palace with reports. 

“Alarya? Are you in here?” Came the voice of her second cousin, Aerdan, form the doorway, and for a second she was tempted to pretend she was not there, but Agoron had other ideas. 

“Yes, we are in here.” He called to his younger brother, who, unlike him, had hair of a light golden color but the same green eyes. Not even a minute later Aerdan had joined in the balcony, leaning against the railing to her other side. 

“It is nice to see you this often, little cousin” Aerdan commented as he flashed her playful smiles, making her laugh lightly in return. Oh, Valar, how she loved her cousins. 

“It is good to see you too, Aerdan.” She smiled as she spoke, and out of the corner of her eyes caught sight of Agoron narrowing his eyes at her, a grin on his face. 

“Alright, Alarya. Who is he?” What? Her head flew in her eldest cousin’s direction. She had not seen that question coming. 

“Who what?” 

Agoron’s eyes sparkled teasingly, a look she already knew very well what it meant. Aerdan’s laughter echoed from her other, a gentle breeze blowing softly from the forest outside, toying with her long golden hair. 

“Oh, please, Alarya, how old do you think I am? You have been in an unusually good mood the entire week.” Agoron added with a smirk. Oh, Valar. Thinking it twice, in times like this she did not love her cousins. “Now who is the ellon me and my brothers have to intimidate?” 

It resulted impossible not to laugh at that. If only her cousins knew. “That is something I would like to see.” 

“What is his name?” Aerdan was the one to speak this time, rounding her to stand by her older brother’s side. Why did her cousins enjoy teasing her this much? 

“I am not telling you that!” If only her cousins simply laughed at her expression, clearly not done with their interrogation. Truth is, she did not mind telling them, but already knew they would believe she was mocking them. 

“Is it someone we know?” Agoron questioned, and she laughed again. Oh, her cousins truly had no idea. 

“If by that you mean you know who he is, then yes. Whether you know him personally, I do not know, but I somehow doubt it.” She was having too much fun with this conversation, and at the same time only thinking about her cousins and family finding out about her and the King made her overly nervous. It would certainly not be what any of them would have imagined or expected. 

Agoron simply laughed at her reply narrowing his eyes playfully at her. “We know everyone, my dear cousin. We will find out his name.”

“King Thranduil.” 

What? Her heart skipped at beat at Aerdan’s unexpected words. Her head flew in his direction, imitating Agoron. 

“There. He is returning.”

Valar, she had never felt so relieved in her life. Aerdan’s gaze was focused on the Main Courtyard some distance below, one of his hands gesturing in the direction of a group of riders quickly making their way towards the main entrance of the Palace. Her eyes immediately found him, there at the front of the line, tall and royal, simply so graceful and elegant as he jumped from the horse in a single flawless move, landing perfectly on his feet. 

The Elvenking did not even look as his large escort dismounted from their horses, a group of elves already taking care of his own horse as he made his way to the entrance of the Palace. She watched him the entire way, looking small in the distance, and yet as handsome as always, his fine dark green travelling cloak swirling around him as he moved. One elegantly dressed elf had made his way towards the King, seeming to be informing him of something as they disappear through the main doors of the Palace, no longer in her view. 

She was only glad that her two cousins had been as entertained by the sight as her, otherwise they would for sure have noticed the smile that grew on her lips at the mere sight of the Elvenking. How she managed to his her emotions from showing on her face only the Valar knew, but somehow she was able to keep her face perfectly relaxed as her cousins looked back at her, the scene they had been spying on already over. 

“He truly is a great King.” She heard Agoron muttering as he turned back towards her chambers. To her further relief both of her cousins seemed to have let go of their little interrogation for the moment, King Thranduil’s arrival distracting them from their game. 

“Come, brother.” Aerdan added as he walked back inside the chambers. “Let us go find Anethor. We will see you at dinner, Alarya.” 

She smiled at her cousins, watching them as the two brothers exited her chambers, their eyes still sparkling playfully, as they always did. She simply stayed in the balcony, her eyes lost in the place where she had just seen the King dismounting his horse. She smiled to herself. Thranduil was back. And at the same time she also felt nervous about it. Her time of hiding had officially ended, it was only matter of time until rumors starting travelling throughout the Palace, and more so, what would her parents say? 

The rest of the afternoon went quietly for Alarya. She simply sat in the private sitting room her family shared, accompanying her mother as the latter worked on the intricate embroidery of one of her father’s tunics while her father read a book. She knew she would have to wait until dinner to see Thranduil, and then after dinner to be able to talk to him in private. After all he had merely arrived back at the Palace some hours ago, and it did feel nice to spend an afternoon in family with only her parents. 

A knock on the door made all three heads turn in its direction. Alarya let her eyes follow his father as he stood to open it. They were certainly not expecting any visitors. To her further surprise the elf standing on the other side was no one she recognized, and by the looks of it, neither did her father. 

“Lord Lasgaer.” The elf greeted with a slight bow of his head, her father simply responding a curt nod before the elf continued speaking. “His Majesty would like to see you in his study, if this is a convenient time for you.” 

Oh Valar, Elbereth, Ilúvatar. What Thranduil would say to her father she had no idea, but she did have a slight guess. She only prayed that the King would require a word with her father for work motifs, and that the conversation they would have had nothing to do with her. Alarya never knew how she managed not to pale from her seat on the couch as she watched the interaction between her father and the elf with a newfound urgent interest. To her further despair her father looked entirely surprised at being summoned by the King. She knew for a fact – from both sources, her father and Thranduil- that whenever the King requested a meeting with her father and other high ranking warriors and captains, they were formally notified ahead of time. 

“Please inform my Lord that I will be there right away.” Was her father’s answer, and much to her misery the messenger elf bowed his head before quickly leaving the room. 

“What is it about, meleth?” She heard her mother asking her father as the later turned in their direction, still looking rather confused. “What could King Thranduil need?” 

“I know not.” Her father quickly kissed her mother’s temple before heading again to the door. “I guess I will find out soon.” 

Then, just before his hand grabbed at the doorknob his father turned again to face her, a warning look on his face, one she knew very very well. “You have not done anything I should know or worry that the King may have complains about, right Alarya?” 

Done anything? Oh, she probably had done everything. Oh, Valar, please let the meeting be about strategizing patrols and guards. Somehow managing to keep a straight, seemingly confused face, Alarya shook her head, looking as sure of herself as she possibly could. And then, without another word, her father exited the piece. 

She could not stay in that room a wait, she simply could not. She suddenly felt as if she needed to keep moving, walking at least, although she had no idea where she would go. Using a walk in the gardens as an excuse, Alarya quickly left her family chambers, starting an aimless walk through the long majestic corridors of the Palace. She did not know for how long she wondered about place, her mind not really paying attention to where she went or who passed by her. 

She finally settled on her favorite chaise in the terrace where she usually met Thranduil. She was not particularly waiting or looking for him, but it was the only the place in the Palace she knew would be entirely deserted. Her thoughts were an incoherent turmoil, and simply thinking about the fact that her father was currently meeting with the King made shudders run down her spine. No. There was no point in feeling nervous. She did not even know what the meeting was about, right? She had no reason to jump to conclusions. 

But, oh Valar, what would happen once the rest of the elves of the Palace found out about her relationship with the King? It would obviously not stay a secret for long, even though she was holding to the hope that since it was something barely starting –as a sort of romantic relationship at least- rumors would hold for a while before bursting. But who was she kidding? This was the King she was talking about! Of course the elves would talk! Would she start getting stares as she walked through the Palace? Would there be whispering around her wherever she went? Only thinking of that made her shiver. No. No, she should not think about that. Perhaps nothing of this would happen. But what if it did? 

Then again, the sole thought of feeling Thranduil’s lips against hers made all of those things seem so unimportant. The simple memory of his arms around her waist and his ice blue eyes piercing through hers made her want to let everyone know that is was she the only one allowed in his arms like that, and no other Lady. Would it really be that bad if all of those things she was so exaggeratedly worrying about came to pass? 

She suddenly jumped, startled as she felt a hand lightly come to rest on her shoulder. A melodic laughter echoed at her reaction and she immediately turned around smiling as her eyes found the tall and elegant figure of the Elvenking standing right behind her. 

“It was not my intention to startle you.” He said in his serene voice as he rounded the chaise and lowered himself next to her, his lips curved up in a gentle smirk. “What were you thinking about you were so concentrated?” 

She immediately grinned at the sight of him. She wanted to melt right there in his arms as she stared at his handsome face, taking in every single one of his perfectly defined features, his seething, cold, and yet gentle eyes, his long fine blond hair. He was dressed in clean formal robes, in the brown shades of the earth, and the majestic crown of silver leaves rested regally atop his head. 

 

“How was your journey?” She asked ignoring his previous question, not able to resist herself as she leaned against him, feeling him turn slightly to accommodate her better. 

“It went well. Nothing particularly interesting.” The light sensation of his breath on her temple as he spoke made a new set of flutters run through her stomach. He was so strong, she could almost feel the perfect muscles of his chest and arms underneath the rich fabric of his robes. She had never been this close to him, and yet she felt so comfortable there, leaning against him. 

“What were you talking to my father about?” She demanded, unable to contain herself any longer as she sat straight again. He did not move, only arching a fair eyebrow questioningly, the smirk on his face reflecting the sparkle of his impenetrable ice blue eyes. 

“I should have guessed you would ask.” He said with a light laugh. Valar, he looked so powerful, simply so royal, and yet his eyes were gentle as they stared at hers, not the cold searing stare of the King. “Well, if you must know, Alarya, I have asked for your father’s consent to court you.” 

She felt stunned for a second, not finding her words. Elbereth, how could that have gone? She had known Thranduil would eventually need to ask her father to court her, as it was customarily done. They could not be seeing each other only in this terrace for the rest of eternity! And even if they did, sooner or latter rumors would start either way. And yet, part of her had continuously tried to avoid the thought of telling her parents. 

“What did he say?” She tired her best to not sound edgy as she spoke, keeping her head high. 

“Are you nervous, Alarya?” He grinned, piercing ice blue eyes teasing her. Of course he had read through her eyes. 

“Well of course I am.” She answered rather impatiently, producing only a light chuckle as his answer. 

Then he leaned closer to her, the gleam in his iced eyes enough to nearly paralyze her heart. “Do I make you nervous?” 

“Thranduil, answer my question.” 

He raised an eyebrow at her commanding tone, his smile never leaving his handsome face. “Patience is not your virtue.” 

“Rumor has it that it is not yours either, your Majesty.” 

He laughed at that, and she felt him gently place the lightest of kisses on her cheek, the feeling of his lips as they brushed her skin making shivers run down her body. When his eyes met hers again, they were no longer playful and light, but a deep piercing blue, so infinite and serene, and yet so intense and powerful. His were the most fascinating eyes in all of Arda, both cold as the sharpest ice and at the same time burning as the wildest of fires, and yet they could prove to be so gentle and soft, like the warm caress of the sea swirling behind impenetrable glass irises. 

“He has granted his consent under the condition that I also had your consent.” He said finally, his voice as calmed as his searing eyes. 

“Well, my Lord, it seems you now find yourself in a very difficult situation.” She mocked him, enjoying the smile that adorned his face. 

And then, his lips found hers, making her heart flutter widely. For all she cared, they could place on a throne right now, facing the entire realm as they gossiped about her and threw glances at her every move, and she would not care if she knew she would have Thranduil by her side. 

“And you have nothing to worry about.” He said as they broke apart, his palm lightly resting on her cheek. “It is not as if I will suddenly call attention to you and you will have maids following your every step. I just needed to warn your parents first for as you know this is an unusual situation and whether I want it or not the entire realm will react to it. I will not make anything official or suddenly ask you to sit by me at the dinner table unless you want me to or until you feel ready for that.” 

She kissed him again, suddenly feeling more relieved than she had the whole week. He would let the rumors spread slowly, letting the elves get used to it, get used to her, before formally placing her on the spot. And she would let the rumor spread, she could not care less. So far the only ones that would officially know of their relationship would be her parents –and maybe perhaps Doronor, he seemed to be the King’s right hand. The rest of the realm would only know from what they saw and heard. It would not be easy to start getting stares, to unofficially let the kingdom know of their relationship, but she was up for it, Valar she was up for every single second of it. 

“Now, I have some other matters I need to attend, but I will see you at dinner.” He smiled as he spoke, rising to his feet, once again looking so tall and elegant it was dazzling. She nodded her head, mirroring his smile as placed another light kiss on her cheek before heading back inside the Palace, once again the King of Mirkwood. 

It resulted an extremely hard task to hide her idiotic smile as she made her way back to her family’s chambers. Valar, she felt like dancing, like twirling and singing and twirling again, but she somehow managed to keep a steady and graceful walk, appearing much more clamed than she felt. And yet, as she opened the door and stepped inside her family’s private sitting room she wanted to run back out again. 

Both her father and her mother were sitting on the large elegant couch, their eyes darting in her direction as she stepped inside, both of them looking as if they had just been smacked hard in the face. Her father looked stern, perplexed, but her mother looked completely stunned, her eyes gleaming with a strange light, as if she would either jump in delight or suffer a heart attack. 

“So I have spoken with King Thranduil.” 

Her father was the one to speak, seeming the only one to be able to speak. Oh, yes. The hardest part was only starting for her.


	7. Storm

A strong gush of wind flew from the open balcony, a couple of the elves in the room moving quickly enough to place their hands on the papers and maps before they were sent flying through the study. Letting out a silent sigh, the Elvenking rose from his seat at the large rounded table, absently waving a hand for the rest of the elves, who had risen when he did, to sit back down. Making his way towards the overly large balcony, the King of Mirkwood pulled the various pairs of doors that led to it closed, the crystals in them protesting in loud cries against the abusive handling from the raging wind outside. 

“It is getting bad outside.” He heard his advisor, Doronor, commenting just as he made his way back to the table holding the meeting. 

The sky outside was packed with heavy black clouds, blocking the light of the day to a point in which they had needed to light the fireplaces and candles against the dull grey light. The wild cries of the wind announced a storm approaching, and by the forceful way in which the trees swayed, it was going to be a violent one. 

“It will get worse.” The Elvenking added as he lowered himself to his seat letting his eyes study the detailed maps laid out of the table in front of him for what seemed like the hundredth time that afternoon. He could sense the trees’ warning, could sense the strength of the storm that would be upon them within short minutes.

The meeting had started a couple of hours ago, and still they had not reached a solution on the repositioning of patrol routes. It was going to be a long meeting, he could tell, but it not was not that which had him wanting to run out of the elegant study. Oh, no. It was a particular Lord he had hopelessly been wishing he could avoid for at least a couple of more days. Yes, Lord Lasgaer, who so happened to be Alarya’s father was currently sitting two spots to his right. 

Only thinking about the last time he had seen the respected warrior –two days ago- made him feel overly uncomfortable. That had by far been the most awkward situation he had yet been, and the Valar knew he had been in many awkward situations before. He could still perfectly remember the look on Lord Lasgaer’s face when he had asked him to court his daughter. The warrior had looked so perplexed that he had honestly thought he had not believed his words were true. But then again, neither of them had known how to act at the moment. He had never felt as clueless and small as he had done that afternoon. And much to his further despair, Lord Lasgaer had seemed as lost as him. It was as if for a second neither of them knew which should show respect to which. He was the King after all, but then again Lasgaer was Alarya’s father. 

Oh, Valar, he did not want to think about that meeting, but it had been more than necessary. He knew the rumors about him and Alarya would not take long to start travelling through the intricate walls of his Palace, and it would be overly disrespectful, not to mention humiliating, to permit Lasgaer finding out that way. Still, it felt just too strange for his comfort to be sitting in this meeting with that specific elf. Did the warrior even know that as soon as the meeting was over he would be most probably kissing and hugging his daughter? And yet, he managed to remain as composed and regal as he always did, not an inch less of the mighty King he was. 

He had not spoken to Alary about whether or not her father had said something to her about their meeting. He was sure he had, although Alarya had not yet commented on it. But truth was, he did not really want to know. Part of him felt scared of what the renown warrior might do to him. Oh, but why was he scared? No he was not scared, he could not be. He was King! …But he was Alarya’s father. 

The wind hit threateningly once more against the crystals of the windows, causing many heads to turn in that direction. It had finally started to rain, the heavy drops of water drumming loudly against the windows, slow at first but quickly picking up until it seemed they would shatter the crystals from the force. King Thranduil was about to continue with the meeting when a fallen branch suddenly smashed against one of the windows, cracking the crystal as it did. 

“We will continue at a different time.” He rose to his feet as he spoke, his wine red robes falling elegantly around him as his ice blue eyes danced over the faces of the five elves at the table. All of them had also stood as he did, a customary show of respect that he thought overly unnecessary. “I would deem it wise to get out of this room and as far away from windows as possible.” 

The elves gathered in the meeting- all of them high-ranking warriors- bowed at their dismissal, producing a chorus of “Of course, Your Majesty” and “Yes, My Lord”. He watched them quickly exit the room, leaving him alone with Doronor and Cunir, his two closest advisors. 

“My Lord, you should go somewhere with less windows.” Doronor said, moving to stand at his right side just as another rush of wind shook the many crystals in the room, threatening to blow away the delicate doors of the balcony. It was impossible to see anything out the long arched windows, only the heavy water running down like waterfalls. The Elvenking nodded his head, not wasting any more time as he started to make his way towards the large pairs of doors. 

“Cunir.” He called after him and the advisor and captain quickly stepped to his side, walking at his same pace. “Send order for every window, door and balcony to be closed. I want every elf in the Palace to head into underground levels.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Was Curnir’s answer before he immediately set out into mobilizing guards, quickly spreading his orders through the large building. 

Without a second thought, King Thranduil stepped out of his study, Doronor at his heels as the two of them made their way through the labyrinthine corridors with haste. Mostly the entire Palace was made of long pointed windows, balconies and open corridors and terraces, thus making the underground levels the only place he could be sure a fallen branch or a broken window would bring no harm to anyone. 

The corridors outside his study were already packed with elves, rushing in every direction, all of them seeming to be very busy in completing a task. He could see guards mobilizing elves through the hallways, checking every room so that no one would stay behind. Rarely did they get storms as violent as this one, but whenever they did he did not attempt to fight it. He was not as fool as to try to fight nature. Sometimes, it just needed to follow its natural course. Nonetheless if things became dangerous for his people and would not hesitate to call upon the old magic he wielded. 

“My Lord.” He turned his head just in time to see Cunir catching up with him as he started to make his way down an ample staircase. “I have been informed that the level of the river has risen considerably, there is a large possibility of flooding.” 

Oh Valar, that underground river! He had entirely forgotten about it. Just one more thing to worry about now. It seemed that all the possible broken windows and things that might go flying around was not enough. Oh, no. Now he would have to deal with a flood as well. At least the river ran so deeply underground that he was entire sure the flood would not reach the chambers where his people would be taking shelter. 

“Make sure that area is clear then. Do not worry about the river, simply make sure that no one is around. If it floods, it floods.” Was his answer as he continued his way down the stairs. Another small branch smashed against a nearby window, making a group of maids passing by to jump and cry out in surprise. 

He did not even notice Cunir rounding a corner in a rush for a sudden flash of bright light distracted his thoughts, followed by the loud, earth-wracking sound of a thunder. He could see the masses of elves heading down the stairs at a quicker pace now, eager to reach the safety of the undergrounds. His ice blue eyes scanned through the rushing elves over and over again, as they had since the moment he had left his study, searching for a particular golden haired Lady he had not yet seen. But why was he worrying? Alarya was most probably already downstairs. 

“Your Majesty, please continue. You must get downstairs before this storms breaks all the windows.” He heard a guard say to his left and only then did he realize he had stopped walking, simply searching through the crowds of elves. To his slight surprise he also realized that it was no longer Doronor the only one accompanying him but also a group of guards who seemed intent in making sure he reached a safe room to wait out the storm. The Elvenking fought the urge to glare at the guards following his every step now. Nothing was going to happen to him! 

“Where is Alarya? Have you seen her?” He asked Doronor in a low voice, knowing for sure that no other elf but his friend would be able to hear him. 

“No, My Lord.” 

A dreadful feeling crept through his body at his advisor’s answer. No. Alarya was fine. She was downstairs with her parents and cousins. She had to be. Besides, the Palace was really a safe place, the only potential danger were the crystals if the wind or a branch suddenly broke them. Sending his people to the lower levels of the Palace was simply a precaution. Alarya was fine. She was perfectly fine. 

They were making their way down another flight of stairs when a sight below caught his full attention. A lady was pushing against some guards, who were pulling her away from the exit into one of the Main Terraces. The lady seemed intent to stay in the terraces regardless of the fierce rainwater that was already soaking the entire floor and furniture in them. He could see her eyes frantically searching past the guards and towards the gardens outside as she said something quickly to another elf that was helping the guards. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized them immediately. It was Alarya’s mother, and the other elf he was sure was one her cousins, although he did not know his name. 

“What is the matter?” He demanded as he hurried to them, throwing a look at the guards that meant his question should be answer immediately. 

“My cousin Alarya is outside in the gardens, my Lord. She went for a walk earlier before the storm hit and has not yet returned.” The elf he did not know the name of explained. 

What! Alarya was where! A sudden fear built in the pit of his stomach, feeling as if someone had smacked him hard in the head. He could see the lady’s scared eyes turn in his direction, suddenly noticing his presence but he was no longer paying attention to her, his piercing eyes fixed on the elf who had spoken. 

“Are you sure?” He asked quickly, his eyes nearly burning through the poor elf, but he could not care less at that moment. All he needed was an answer. 

“Yes, my Lord.” 

The Elvenking did not even catch the look on the elf’s face as he spoke for his feet were already guiding him out into the terrace, deliberately ignoring all the cries from his advisor and guards. Valar, what was she thinking?! Had she not noticed the simply beautiful weather they had right now?! He was going to kill her! But then again the sudden fear he felt was like no other he remembered feeling before. What if something happened to her? 

“My Lord! MY LORD!” He could hear Doronor calling out behind him just as he rushed down the few steps that led into the gardens, not even turning to look. Let them come after him if they wanted to. 

He walked as fast as he could, nearly running, having to lift the front of his robes so that he would not trip on them. Oh, Valar, what a useless garment that thing really was! The rain cut his face like daggers, making it nearly impossible to keep his eyes open as the wild wind slapped his hair across his face and neck. Water ran over the drowning grass, staining the ends of his robes and making his feet sink in the mud as he hurried through the trees, fighting against the violent wind, which kept trying to push him out of balance. 

The trees cried loudly around him, protesting at the force of the storm, trying in vain to prevent their branches from shaking wildly in submission, leaves breaking from them and flying into the wind. But he did not stop. He needed to find Alarya. He needed to make sure she was all right. To his advantage he knew by heart all of her preferred routes for walks, and yet to his despair, he very well knew these routes were often deeper inside forest and too far away from the Palace to his liking. Why did she have to choose today to go for a walk! 

“ALARYA!” He yelled over and over again, but the sound of his voice was drowned by the heavy curtain of rain.

The trees kept crying to him, able to feel his presence through the forest, guiding him, telling him to go left or right, seeming to know exactly what he was looking for. He followed their voices, their sounds sometimes lost in the drumming rain or the echo of a loud thunder. He wavered suddenly as he stepped on a particularly slippery large rock, sliding dangerously, and had it not been for his elven balance was sure he would have fallen. 

His heart raced inside his chest, every step he took becoming more urgent. Where was she? Why had he not found her by now? Was she all right? The storm continued to rage around him. He very well knew that it was not safe to be outside right now, and twice he had to duck just in time to avoid being forcefully hit by fallen branches, but honestly he could not care less. He continue to rush through the thick tree trunks, his narrowed eyes turning from left to right desperately, trying to see through the cutting rain. 

Suddenly his eyes caught something different in the forest, something that he did not quite remember. Some distance ahead of him he could see a steep declivity, angry rainwater flowing down it like a waterfall, dragging the mud and grass with it. He did not need to think to immediately know what had happened. The large amount of water had caused the land and rocks that lined the riverside to slide down. It would not be the first time such a thing happened. He rushed in its direction, unprepared for the sight that met his eyes. 

Alarya lay curled against the muddy wall, almost halfway in between the edge of the dent and the angry black waters below. Both of her hands gripped tightly to some roots left uncovered by the slide, her small body shaking visibly. Her hair and dress were drenched, covered in the mud that continued to slide down the new slope. His heart nearly stopped, an irrational fear taking possession of him. 

“Alarya!” He yelled as he instantly rushed as close to the edge as he dared. Her large green eyes flew in his direction, although she did not move an inch. She looked absolutely terrified, the simple fear in her eyes making him want to jump down to her side and get her, but he knew it was not that easy and he was not that of a fool. 

How long had she been lying there? He needed to get her out. If the land continued to slide she would surely fall into the river, and if that happened his probabilities of successfully taking her out of the water were less than slim. 

“Do not move! I will go down!” He instructed, quickly inspecting the slope to find the steadiest parts to reach her. 

Slowly, he started climbing down the slope, careful with the rocks that seemed too loose of the bits of land that continued to break from the mass and die inside the furious grasp of the river. He had no idea how they were going to get back up, but if there was something he was absolutely sure of was that Alarya would not move by herself, she was simply too frightened, nearly paralyzed. 

He finally reached her side, his body carefully pressed against the slope so that he would not continue to slide down, his drenched robes now weighing heavily on his body and covered in mud. His ice blue eyes quickly scanned her for any visible injuries, feeling only slightly relieved when he found none. She was shaking so violently, he wanted to wrap is arms around her but feared that that way if he slid further down he would pull her with him and he did not want to risk that. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked the minute he reached her side and she shook her head as a reply. “Can you move?” He received a nod this time. 

“Alarya we need to climb back up.” He stared into her frightened green eyes as he spoke, trying in vain to calm some of her fear with a steady voice. “You have to be very careful of where you step. I will be behind you if you slip.” 

She simply shook her head no, not moving an inch from where she was, gripping at the protruding root like a lifeline. 

“Alarya, I cannot carry you back up. You need to climb. I will be right behind you.” He tried again but all he received as another shake of her head. They had no time to waste, if the land continued to slide they both would end at the mercy of flooded river. 

“Alarya, listen to me.” His eyes searched hers, preventing her from looking away as they stressed his words, one of his hands moving to rest over hers. “The land will slide again. We need to get up before it drags us both down with it.” 

Scared large green eyes remained fixed on his for a moment, as if she was slowly processing his words, coming awake from her frozen state. Valar, why could he not just tell her she was safe? That was all we wanted to do, and yet knew that it was not the case. He would call on the forest if it became necessary, he would wield magic, he could already hear the cries of the trees inside his head, the surge of energy through his veins that told him he had already ignited the connection. If he called the trees would answer, but he did not want to do that unless their situation became dire. He would not resource to his powers unless they had no other option. 

Finally Alarya nodded her head, the usual strength and determination suddenly returning to her forest green eyes. He watched her attentively as she slowly release one hand from the root, carefully moving upwards to find something else to pull herself up. Slowly she started climbing up the steep slope, grabbing on the many pieces of rocks and occasional branches or roots. He followed her closely, ready to catch her if she fell. The heavy rainwater continued to make the dark brown mud run, causing some of the small stones to roll downhill and into the river below. 

Then everything happened so fast he did not even have time to register it all. Suddenly, the slope beneath them shook, the mud and stones becoming free from the earth and rolling down, dragging everything with they could with them. There was nothing to hold on to, every stone every root or branch was loose, falling downhill into the water. He heard Alarya let out a cry and he felt his own arms wrapping around her, pressing her as tight to his chest as he could, his body shielding over hers as they rolled down. He could not tell what was up and what was down, small and medium sized rocks blanketing over them, hitting him on their way down. 

An unexpected sharp pain exploded in his right knee as he hit one of the largest stones, but that was the least of his worries. All of his concentration lay on the sudden call he had released into the forest, a familiar tingling feeling burning through his veins as he felt the power of the connection like a wracking thunder. It hit him hard, harder than it usually did. He felt as if his mind had been suddenly pulled into a wild maelstrom, pulling him in every single direction and he had to fight hard to resist all of those forces that were begging a bit of his energy, a bit of his magic. He had known it would be this way. The forces of nature were too powerful in this storm, for him to wield them it would take much more energy than usual. He had little time before he needed to break the connection, before he himself was consumed and unable to escape. 

Then, there it was, just what he had aimed for. Suddenly, at his command, a thick branch flew in their direction, the wood cracking as it stretched unnaturally, the many green leaves slapping against it widely in the wind. He felt his body fall against it, perfectly nesting in between the creaks and twigs, Alarya still securely held against his chest. The cries of the forest became louder inside his head, painfully, and he pulled away this time, breaking the connection in a quick move, barely aware of the robust tree crawling its branches over their heads in a secure shelter. The wracking forces of nature abandoned him just as suddenly as they had reached him, leaving him dizzy and weary, but he had no time for that. 

The tree was helping them climb up, its thick branches making a bridge for them and he immediately jumped to his feet, trying to ignore the sudden pain in his knee as he climbed as steadily as he could in the wind and rain. He held Alarya with one arm, her body clinging to him, as he used to other to grab to other branches. In matter of seconds his feet landed once again on the muddy ground, finally at the top of the slope. A look down told him that a large part of it had been dragged down into the river, the entire portion where they had been trying to climb some moments ago completely vanished. 

He set Alarya lightly on her feet, keeping one arm secure around her as he started to guide her in the direction of the closest tree trunk. The wind slapped his face hard, tangling his drenched hair with Alarya’s golden one. Sit down - that was what his mind and body kept screaming at him. He needed to sit down – he would fall if he did not. He led Alarya to sit against the wide trunk, the thick roots that protruded from the ground providing a perfect shelter against the wind. He watched Alarya’s small form curl up against the tree and he dropped himself next to her. The ancient tree gently curled its roots around them, and he was very well aware it could feel his weakened state, providing shelter for him in his time of need. He was only glad Alarya seemed too shaken still to notice his weariness, giving him some minutes to regain some of his strength. Even if it had lasted only mere seconds, wielding magic in a storm like this one had taken a real toll on him. Nature had been too forceful for him to overpower it. 

“Are you all right?” He asked her, cupping her cold cheek in his hand as his eyes once again scanned her for any visible injuries. 

She nodded her head slowly. “Yes.” 

She was shaking, her voice trembling as much as her small body. He rested his forehead against hers, holding her as she suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling her relax slightly as he gently rubbed circles on her back. Valar, he had been so worried! What on Arda had she been doing outside in the first place! But right now, that question did not really matter to him, all he cared what she was fine. 

The rain still drummed on the muddy grass, an occasional thunder lighting the entire forest, but finally –after what seemed like hours, the wind seemed to have receded slightly. As gently as he could, he scooped her up in his arms, her body weighing nearly nothing as he rose to his feet. Slowly he started to make his way back towards the warm and dry Palace, ignoring the constant throbbing of his right knee as he walked and trying not to limp. 

The walk back was calmed and uneventful, the cascading rain washing away the mud from his face and part of it from his hair. Alarya did not move once, her arms remaining locked around his neck as she hid her face on his shoulder. No sooner had the first terraces of the Palace become visible when a bunch of elves were already over them, taking Alarya from his arms and wrapping some dry blankets over his shoulders as many arms led him inside. It was hard to tell what was happening with all of these healers and guards hovering around, but he felt too exhausted to really pay attention. 

“Is she all right?” “Is she injured?” He could hear some of the healers asking as they hovered over Alarya, the latter finally on her feet once more. He caught sight of Lord Lasgaer quickly holding his daughter, and he thought he saw one of the cousins too but he was not sure, his attention flying back to all of the guards constantly saying “Your Majesty, are you hurt?” “Do you need anything, my Lord?” 

The Elvenking lifted a hand commandingly, all of their questions suddenly stopping at his movement as he allowed Doronor to lead him further inside the Palace, some guards ahead of them opening the way through the many curious eyes and whispers that followed. He spared one last glance in Alarya’s direction, content to find her still in her father’s arms. Lasgaer’s eyes met his and then slowly, very slowly the warrior inclined his head in thanks, a movement missed by everyone but him. He nodded his head once, watching the faintest of smiles appear on the respected warrior’s face before he turned his eyes once again to the front, following Doronor through the long hallways of his Palace. 

Some hours later, King Thranduil found himself comfortably reclining on a couch inside the elegant Sitting Room in the Private Quarters of the Palace while a pair of healers carefully placed some hot towels beneath his aching right knee. The injury was not very serious but of course the healers had insisted on treating it immediately, and he was glad to receive some relief from the pain. Valar, he had to admit the warmth felt wonderful on his throbbing limb. He had already bathed and dressed in a clean simple – relatively simple of course – light tunic. His hair, which also been washed and neatly combed, fell loosely behind his back as he currently lay on the couch, prey of Melnor’s multiple and unnecessary examinations for any broken bones. 

“You are weary.” The healer observed in a low voice, only loud enough for him to hear eyes steady looking into his, silently telling him that he knew exactly the cause of his sudden exhaustion. But of course the healer would know, Melnor was the one who treated him every time that wielding his powers left him beyond spent. 

“Are you comfortable there, my Lord?” One of the two healers treating his leg asked as they finally finished accommodating the hot towels beneath his knee. Comfortable? He had been comfortable for hours by now. 

“Yes, thank you.” He managed not to sound annoyed in the slightest as he spoke, glad as Melnor finally stepped away from him, finished with his examinations. 

“Would you like me to bring you anything, my Lord?” The head healer asked, his hand indicating in the direction of his knee, and yet his eyes implying if he needed something to regain his strength. 

“Wine.” Was his answer, even though he very well knew it was not the answer the healer expected. Nonetheless, Melnor let out a single silent chuckle before nodding his head at one of the servants in the room, the latter immediately leaving to fetch the requested drink. 

“Let me know if you feel any discomfort.” The head healer added with a respectful bow before he and the two other healers exited the room, leaving him alone with Doronor, who had remained standing quietly some distance away, dark blue eyes mocking him with words he knew the advisor would not dare say. He felt tired and sore and in no mood to hear his friends teasing comments, but thankfully for him Doronor seemed to know this very well, for he continued to remain quiet. 

Moments later the servant returned with a cup filled of the reddest wine, as well as a tray with a light meal and some fruits. He nodded to the young servant elf in both thanks and dismissal before turning his piercing ice blue eyes back to his advisor. 

“I will let you rest, my Lord.” His friend said with a slight bow of the head, easily understanding the look in his eyes, however the tone in his voice and the faint smile on his lips told him that he would hear about his earlier actions the next day. 

The Elvenking simply remained lying on the couch. He felt too comfortable to move and the wine tasted overly soothing in his tired state, making him drowsy. He had been informed some time earlier of the damages caused by the storm and thank the Valar they had been few. There had been no injured, even with the many crystals that had shattered under the stress of the wind. 

A timid knock on the large pairs of wooden doors pulled him out of his thoughts. At first, he simply felt confused. No elf ever came looking for him while he was in his private chambers, only Doronor did, and the advisor did not bother knocking, let alone this shyly. The door opened a crack, and a familiar pair of large forest green eyes peeked through it, finding his immediately. 

“May I come in?” He heard Alarya’s soft voice asking and he could read in it that she was really asking for permission. As if he could ever deny it to her! 

“Of course.” He answered almost instantly, sitting up on the couch as he watched her slowly walk inside the room, closing the door behind her. 

“Doronor informed me I would find you here.” She explained as she walked in his direction. But of course. Who else would it have been? She too had bathed and changed into a clean deep blue dress, looking as elegant and radiant as she always did, and yet for the first time she looked somewhat shy, her large green eyes looking about the room as if she felt she should not be there. 

“I was told you were resting.” He brought her attention back to him, watching her flash him one of her flawless smiles. 

“I could not sleep.” Was her answer as she lowered herself on the couch next to his outstretched legs, - he had no plans in bending is already painful knew -her body facing him. Then he saw her eyes quickly fall on carefully placed towels behind his knee before her green irises returned to meet his. 

“Are you hurt?” She suddenly asked but he waved her worries off with a movement of his hand. 

“I am fine.” Whether or not she believed him he could not tell but she dropped the subject. Then her eyes traveled over him, studying his appearance. 

“You look just like you did the day I met you.” She chuckled and he let one of his hands travel to hers, their fingers lacing together. 

“You mean un-kingly?” He raised an eyebrow as he spoke and she smiled widely, reminded of that particularly amusing episode. 

“No.” She defended herself, her green eyes sparkling so vividly he wanted to never have to look anywhere else. “I mean handsome.” She leaned forward and placed her lips against his in a gentle kiss. 

“Now you are just trying to make up for that.” He added, not resisting himself as he placed another kiss on her lips. 

“Is it working?” She laughed, brushing her lips against his as she spoke. Valar, she had no idea of what she could do to him. 

“Surprisingly well.” He managed to say before kissing her again, pulling her down until she was lying half on top of him and half on the couch. She laughed again, trying to pull away from him as he nuzzled his nose against her neck, feeling her body trembling slightly at his touch. Then, her large emerald eyes met his, so vast and warm, her body so small against his, her playful smile vanishing from her face.

“I wanted to thank you, Thranduil.” She said, but he did not need her to thank him for anything. Her large green eyes looked somewhat guilty, a look he hated seeing in those forest green orbs. 

“No need for that.” He said in return, his voice merely a whisper, causing her small smile to widen slightly, but the look in her emerald eyes did not change. He leaned in, placing a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. “If you really want to thank me you can stroke my hair.” 

That made her laugh, her fingers moving to travel down his long hair in the soothing way he so adored. His eyes fell closed at her touch and he heard her let out another chuckle. 

“Do not fall asleep on me.” She warned, causing him to open his eyes again with a smile. 

“Then you better stop that.” 

He stopped her hand, shifting on the couch so that she could accommodate herself better next to him. She placed her head on his chest, her body suddenly relaxing as he wrapped his arms around her. And then he understood why she had come looking for him. She was still shaken, still scared. The entire riverside had crumbled beneath her feet, nearly dragging her down into the river and she had been lying there on the mud holding onto a small protruding root for who knows how long before he found her. Why had he not seen that? Of course rest would not come easily to her tonight. He did not say anything else, simply holding her gently as she lay next to him, waiting for her nerves to calm, for her fears to slowly fade. 

It was not until hours later when he heard her sleepy voice saying faintly “I am preventing you from going to bed” that he finally spoke again. “I have always found this couch particularly comfortable.” And he could not explain how much he meant that, for lying on this constricted space with her in his arms was resulting far more comfortable than all the many feathered pillows and warm blankets on his overly large bed.


	8. Yield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!! :) hope you enjoy! and thank you so much for your lovely comments!!! ^^

“Alarya! Could you please stand still?” 

Her mother scolded for the fourth time that afternoon, making the reluctant daughter stand straight almost immediately. Truth was, Alarya did not especially enjoy her dress fittings, almost unable to stand perfectly still for so long while maids roamed around her, measuring the length on her new dress. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see her mother eyeing her carefully, occasionally giving the maids a comment or an opinion. Valar, any on looking eye would believe the dress was for her and not for her daughter! 

Not that she was complaining. Oh, no. The dress was absolutely stunning. The rich green fabric was the lightest she had ever seen, falling all the way down to the floor in a weightless dance, where the two maids were currently marking the pattern in which tiny white pearls would be sewn. Oh, yes. She would not complain about the dress. But then again, she could not hold back a chuckle as her mother once again threw her a look that meant to stand straight and not move. 

“Alarya! I will not say it one more time.” 

Alarya did not answer, simply smiling at her mother apologetically before concentrating once more on standing still. Not that she was not trying to please her mother, she was really trying, but standing still for so long was just so boring. Besides, she knew her mother was especially pushy for other reasons at the moment. 

Her mother, Lady Laessel was usually an overly patient and calmed lady, always elegant and of sweet personality. And yet, it seemed that since the moment her mother had learned about her relationship with King Thranduil a month ago, she had been nearly always on the edge, as if she could just not get peace of mind for even a single second. 

She did not blame her. Her mother was not the only one that had been on edge lately. Her father had been overly thoughtful the past month, less talkative than usual. He had not been angry or opposed to her seeing anyone- as she had feared he would be- but then again he did not look entirely elated. No. At times he appeared content and at others he just seemed fearful, sad. Then again, she knew she was their only daughter, and only child after the death of her older brother. And yet again, the fact that it was none other than the Elvenking the one courting her seemed a reality her parents could not manage to visualize.

Alarya could perfectly remember that conversation with her parents the day Thranduil had asked to court her. Oh, Valar. If there was one memory she really wanted to perpetually erase from her mind, it was precisely that conversation. Oh, but what conversation? It could not even be called a conversation. Mostly, nobody spoke. Her mother had seemed to have lost her ability to speak, and her father had simply had a very hard time in between identifying Thranduil as his King or as the ellon who was courting his daughter. She had simply sat there awkwardly as her father threw stern glances at her, as if trying to find a reason to be angry with Thranduil but finding none. Oh, only thinking of that conversation made her shudder. 

A knock on the opened door pulled her out of her thoughts just as she heard her mother sweetly greeting her father as the latter walked into the room. 

“That dress is looking beautiful, Alarya.” Her father said as he approached. 

“You think?” She returned his smile, allowing herself to gently twirl around for him to fully see the dress. Her father seemed to be in a good mood that afternoon, and she most definitely did not want to spoil it. Her father simple nodded his head as a reply, with a hand dismissing the two maids who had finally finished their work on the bottom of her dress. 

“Go change, my child, so that the dress can be finished.” Her mother added in a gentle a tone- a thing that had proven to be very unusual that afternoon- placing a soft kiss on her husband’s cheek. Alarya did as told, not wasting a single second of her mother’s returned patience. 

“Agarben will also be joining us for summer’s solstice.” She heard her father telling her mother just as she rejoined them in the large family room they shared at the Palace. Ah, so it was the upcoming celebration what had her father in this peaceful good mood. 

Unlike the winter’s solstice celebration, in which the elves of the Greenwood gather at a grand feast in the Palace, summer’s solstice tended to be more of a family thing. Families would gather together for a long lunch in the middle of the day – a meal that extended into late hours of the night, until the sun has finally set in the horizon. It was nothing unusual for her uncle, Lord Agarben, and his family to join them for this particular celebration. They always celebrated summer’s solstice in her house out in the green forests of Mirkwood, and a smile crossed her face as she understood that this year would be no different. 

True, they had moved to reside in the Palace, but that did not mean that their house was not still there, nor that it was now entirely empty. Oh, no. All the servants that had resided there and worked for her father were still there, and the house was still kept clean and habitable. In fact, it was not unusual for her family to spend a couple of days in that house – for some peaceful time in the company of the forest- and then return to their chambers in the Palace.

“That is wonderful news.” Her mother added. Oh, yes, her mother was suddenly in a good mood. This was her chance, she knew it. She would not get another opportunity in which both of her lately very stressed parents were in such a pleasant mood. 

“Is it all right if King Thranduil joins us as well?” 

Two pairs of eyes suddenly flashed in her direction. Oh, Valar, she had done it. Oh, yes. She had just managed to ruin her parents’ good mood in a single second. She had referred to him as ‘King Thranduil’, knowing that both of her parents seemed uncomfortable whenever she referred to the Elvenking as simply ‘Thranduil’. 

“What?” Her mother asked while her father stated a firm “No.” 

“Lasgaer!” Her mother hissed.

“What?” Was her father’s whispered reply under her mother’s rebuking gaze. 

“What do you mean no? Of course he can join us!” Her mother continued to scold in a low voice. As if she could not hear what they were saying. “You send an invitation every single year!”

“Yes, of course he can, I would be honored if he joins our celebration!” Her father defended himself in the same whispered tone. “I send an invitation every single year!” 

“Then why are you suddenly so reluctant?” Her mother hissed again. Oh, Valar, why had she even asked anything? 

“Because he has a motif to come to our celebration. I never truly expect him to accept our invitation, and if he ever had I would have been more than happy to receive him. But now he will come if only to spend time with my daughter!”

“As if you did not have motif to come to my parents’ summer solstice celebration when you were courting me.” 

“It was very different, Laessel.” 

“How was it different?” 

“Well, for a start I was not your parents’ King!” 

“Why are you so against him coming?” she chimed in, once again causing her parents to focus their attention on her. Her father sighed, an apologetic expression crossing his face as he stared at her. 

“I do not have anything against him coming, Alarya.” His voice was soft now, honest, as if trying to make her understand his reasons were he already knew she would be biased in Thranduil’s favor. “As I said, I would never refuse him an invitation. I would be happy to receive him. But he is my King, Alarya. I cannot simply have him as another one of my guests. What do I offer him? Wine that cannot even begin to be compared to his Dorwinion?” 

“He will not care what kind of wine you serve.” Her voice was patient, offering her father a smile as she spoke. Valar, why was this so difficult! She had already known that it would take time for her parents to fully accept the idea that the King was courting their daughter.

“How do you even know he has not already receive an invitation to another celebration, and has already accepted to attend?” Her father’s voice had receded to soft tone. A smile crossed her face. She knew that tone. Although only half-heartedly, her father had ceded. 

“He will accept our invitation, Ada.” She smiled as she spoke. Her father’s face did not look hard anymore, and yet it did not look exactly please. But that was all right. She just needed his consent, and now she knew she had it. Her mother had simply fallen quiet, as if knowing that adding anything else to the conversation would only foment a new whole argument. 

“Have you already asked him?” Her father question, suddenly looking defeated. 

“No.” She replied truthfully. She would not ask him if her parents did not agree, but she knew they would not do so without her giving a little push first. 

“Then how do you even know he will wish to attend our celebration?” Her father walked in her direction as he spoke, making her feel like an elfling again, asking permission to her father to go wondering around the gardens. 

“He will, Ada.” She reassured him, placing a gentle kiss on her father’s cheek as another sad look crossed her father’s green eyes. “He will say yes.” 

IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII

“No.” 

“And why not, Thranduil?” She pressed for what seemed like the thousandth time. 

They had been arguing for over an hour by now and if there was something she had learned was that the Elvenking would not yield. And neither would she. Valar, why was he being so difficult! 

“Because, Alarya.” He said simply, not even bothering to repeat the many reasons he had previously explained to her again. 

“Because is not a reason!” She protested. Oh, Valar why was he so stubborn?! Of all elves in Arda she had to have fallen for one that was precisely as obstinate as her! 

His ice blue eyes met hers instantly, piercing through hers with an ease that made her want to tremble, but she did not. No. She stared back at him, eyes as inflexible as his. And yet, his eyes were not hostile, firm yes, but not harsh. 

The bright light of the warm summer’s afternoon danced inside his large study, casting odd and beautiful reflections on his pale blue elegant robes and kissing his long light blond hair with a touch of platinum. He looked so tall and powerful standing there at the large balcony, his sole presence seeming to exude an aura of royalty and authority she could not begin to understand, and at the same time adored of him. 

“I truly appreciate your invitation, Alarya, but I cannot accept it. That is something I cannot do.” He explained again, his hand reaching for hers but she immediately shook his away. Oh, she was angry now. And to her further ire, he smirked as she pulled away from him, as if he had expected that exact reaction from her part.

“Why can you not do that, Thranduil? Why can you not accept my parent’s invitation?” She continued to press. They had already gone through this same words five time already, but she would not be content unless he yielded….a thing she now knew for sure would most certainly not happen. 

“Because I’m their King!” He protested again. Oh, Valar, here it was again. The same argument that her father had supported. “Do you have the slightest idea how uncomfortable that situation would be to your parents? Or to me? I do not wish to attend a celebration where my presence would make the hosts feel the need to serve me.” 

He walked back inside the elegant study as he spoke, giving his back to her as he absently started to sort out some papers over his large oak desk. She followed him inside. If he thought she was done arguing he was very very wrong. 

“As if you have never been a guest at a celebration before. How is this different, Thranduil?” She had lowered her voice to an angered hiss. Out of the corner f her eyes she could see Doronor going through some other papers at a nearby table, seeming to be ignoring their argument. 

“Yes, I have been a guest at other celebrations and events at other realms where they are expecting my presence. There are always protocols, formalities and expectations, never a family dinner at which I simply decide to make an appearance.” 

“But we are expecting you!” She was loosing her patience. Oh, no. Who was she kidding. She had already lost it. 

“Have you looked at my desk, Alarya!” He hissed in return, also at the end of his patience. “There are hundreds of invitations to summer solstice’s celebrations. Do you think a single one of them is really expecting me to accept? They are sent out of politeness, and I still have to send my polite excuses to all of them, as I do every year. Yes, all of them will open their doors if I decide to show up, but mostly out of obligation. The moment I show up everyone offers their best behavior, their best food, their best drinks, gracious compliments, and suddenly a family lunch is turned into a formal event…thank you but no, I will not go.” 

“It will not be a formal event!” She insisted for the hundredth time, her sharp green eyes searching for his ice blue ones to focus on her but he seemed to have suddenly lost focus on her. 

“Alarya, I said no.” He said flatly, his eyes suddenly looking thoughtful as if something else had called his attention, a had raised in a dismissive motion, as if silencing her. Oh, how dare he! She would not be silenced like an elfling! “If you wish for us to have a meal with your family I will be more than glad to receive you all in the private dinning room. You can pick the day and the cooks will prepare anything you wish.”

“You are simply being selfish! You know that is not what I want!” She said again, walking closer to him. She grabbed at his shoulder, intent on turning him around to force his attention back to her, but he shoved her hand away sharply. 

“Silence.” His voice was low, carrying a command that for a second made her almost obey immediately. Silence?! Had he just silenced her?! King or not, she would not have anyone silence her like that! 

“What is the matter with you?! That is plainly rude!” 

“Alarya, be quiet.” His ice blue eyes held a look of concentration she had never seen in them before, almost worried, alert. He did not even seem to mind her complain, as if she was not even relevant in comparison to whatever it was he was trying to concentrate on. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see Doronor rising to his feet, suddenly aware of his King’s change in tone. 

“No. This argument is far from over. You-

“Alarya, silence.” He interrupted her mid-sentence making her want to simply yell at him as he raised his hand again commandingly. 

“No, you will listen t-

She did not get to finish her sentence as his eyes suddenly shut tight, his handsome face suddenly contorting in an expression of agonizing pain. She froze, suddenly forgetting all of her anger. A cry of surprise and fright died at her mouth, her heart suddenly stopping inside her chest, not knowing what was happening. Thranduil leaned heavily on his desk, his hands gripping at its edges with a force she thought would break the polished wood. In a fragment of a second, Doronor was by his side, catching his King just in time as his knees buckled. 

Alarya felt frozen, unable to move as fear rooted her feet to the exquisite carpet. She had no idea what was happening. Thranduil’s eyes remained shut tight as he tossed and turned his head, as if trying desperately to get away from something, but she could not see what. She heard Doronor call out a name, and not even a second later one of the large pair of wooden doors opened as one of the guards outside quickly rushed into the room. 

“Get Master Melnor. Be quick.” The blond advisor instructed in a flat commanding voice, and she saw the guard’s eyes widen in understanding for a second before leaving the room with haste, not even bothering to answer. 

She remained standing where she was, her presence seemingly forgotten. She had never felt as useless as she did at that precise moment. Valar, she only wanted whatever was happening to Thranduil to be over! The only thought that partially tranquilized her was that Doronor seemed to know what was happening. He had lowered the Elvenking to the carpet, the later still tossing around, faced scrunched in pain. Thranduil’s breathing had quickened, his entire body shaking violently. He did not seem aware of what was happening around him. 

“My Lord! My Lord!” She heard Doronor calling, a hand firmly placed to the King’s cheek, but all of his efforts seem to be in vain. “Thranduil!” 

Her heart drummed at her throat. She had been scared many times in her life, and yet she had never felt as scared as she did at that moment. And yet what scared her most was the sudden surge of power she could almost feel floating around him, a sensation all to familiar to her. She did not know what it was. No. But she had felt it before. She had felt it the night he had rescued her out in the storm. The trees had behaved unnaturally. She could exactly tell what had happened that night, but she knew it had been his doing. After all, it was not unknown among the elves of Mirkwood that their King wielded powerful magic. By the Valar, the Mirkwood gates were an example of it! 

Her heart drummed louder by the minute and she could see Doronor’s eyes becoming more alarmed with every passing second. And still, nothing changed. Thranduil did not stop tossing, his eyes remained shut tight, his breathing way too quick for her liking. Alarya did not even know how much time had passed. Five minutes? Ten? She could not tell. 

Then suddenly Thranduil went still. His body went limp on the carpet, still trembling visibly. His eyes were still closed, and for a torturing second she could not tell whether or not he was even conscious. She searched Doronor’s eyes, trying to find reassurance in them, but found nothing that could even begin to tranquilize her. The advisor’s eyes were glued on his King, not even turning in her direction once, but she did not care. 

“Thranduil?” She heard Doronor calling, no longer caring for formalities or titles. “Can you hear me, my friend?” 

The Elvenking did not answer, still breathing heavily. He looked pale, his skin suddenly an ashen color, and yet what worried her most was how absolutely drained he appeared. Alarya was sure she had never seen anyone look as exhausted as he did at that moment. It was as if something had simply sucked all of his energy from him. 

Before Doronor could say anything else, the King suddenly turned on his side, propping himself up on his hands, and she saw the blond advisor react in a flash, pulling Thranduil’s hair back as the latter heaved violently, emptying the contents of his stomach. She wanted to run to him, to do something to help him, anything, and yet she could not move. She could only watch helplessly as Thranduil’s heaving faded into weak coughing before he collapsed back against Doronor, eyes closed tiredly, his body still shaking visibly. 

As if on cue, the door to the study opened suddenly, and she turned her head to find the head healer – Melnor, she had learned- rushing into the room, kneeling down next to his King. 

“How strong was it this time?” She heard the healer asking Doronor as his hands quickly grabbed at the Elvenking’s right wrist, feeling for his pulse. 

“Same as last time, if not worse. It lasted longer this time, about ten minutes.” Came the advisor’s quick answer, once again leaving her clueless as to what they were talking about. She felt invisible, a statue carved in stone, forgotten inside the elegant room. 

The healer let go of the King’s wrist with a sigh, shaking his head slightly, suddenly giving her the illusion that there was not much the healer could really do. She saw the healer continue to examine his King, checking his temperature and his breathing.

“I will prepare something to alleviate the migraine.” Melnor added as he once again rose to his feet. “Lord Cunir has already send instructions for my King’s chambers to be readied, and the guards have cleared the way for whenever he is ready to walk there.” 

“Now.” The weak sound of the Elvenking’s voice made all pairs of eyes turn in his direction. 

“Of course, my Lord.” Doronor nodded his head in response. Even in his weakened state, Thranduil’s word would not be questioned. 

Alarya could hardly believe he would be able to walk. In fact, she even doubted he would be able to stand on his feet. And yet, as always, he proved her wrong, slowly rising to his feet with the help of his advisor. She saw Melnor holding his King by his other arm, waiting for the latter to be steady on his feet before letting go. Thranduil had not opened his eyes once, his ice blue irises still hidden behind tightly shut eyelids. Then, with a nod of his head, the head healer headed out of the room, going to prepare the draught no doubt. 

Doronor’s dark blue eyes met hers, and for the first time in long minutes her presence was acknowledged. She did not need the advisor to speak for her to understand what the look in his eyes meant, and without thinking it twice she took hold of Thranduil’s free arm, following Doronor as he led them out into the empty hallway. 

They did not encounter a single elf as they made their slow way through the tall and majestic halls of the Palace. Much to her surprise, Thranduil walked more steadily than she had thought he would, although not once did he open his eyes. He did not seem entirely aware of her presence next to him either, but she did not care. All she cared about was the deep crease of pain in his brow, and the way in which his body continued to tremble, crushing her heart inside her chest. She still had no clue what had happened inside his elegant study, but all she wanted was for it to never happen again. 

A new wave of nerves washed over her as they made their way up the grand staircase that led to the Private Quarters of the Palace. Part of her kept telling her to run away, that she should not be there. The King’s chambers were off-limits to everyone- including her. And yet, she kept going, following Doronor through halls and corridors her eyes had never seen. 

Finally, they reached a majestic pair of magnificently carved wooden doors, the two guards standing dutifully at its sides opening it wide for them to pass. They stepped into a spacious antechamber, furnished by many couches and seats, as well as an exquisite rounded table by the rich fireplace. It resulted hard for her to make out any shapes in the dark, as she found that all rich curtains –the color of which she could not really see- had been drawn closed over the multiple tall windows. 

From there, the room opened into an ample bedchamber, and once again she found it hard to distinguish any shapes in the dark. She felt like an elfling, about to be chastised for entering a room that had been forbidden to her. She could see figures already inside the room as she followed Doronor in leading the King towards the overly large bed placed in the canter of it. The fine silk sheets had already been pulled down, and she watched helplessly as Thranduil lowered himself to sit on the soft mattress, a maid instantly walking over to free his long light blond hair from all of its braids. 

She simply stood there, clueless, feeling utterly useless as she watched Melnor and another healer she did not recognize hover over their King, giving him a cup with steaming liquid and helping him down onto the overly soft pillows after he had finished the draught, placing a cool wet cloth over his forehead and eyes. She had barely even noticed that Doronor had walked to where she stood, waiting silently by her side. 

“Is he all right?” Her voice was barely audible, a whisper she was sure no elf other than Doronor had been able to hear. 

“He will be, after he has rested.” The advisor reassured her in the same whispered tone. She could see the Elvenking raising a dismissive hand from the bed, all the maids and healers inside the room obeying immediately, leaving the room in complete silence. 

“Did I…do anything?” Her large green eyes searched into Doronor’s dark blue ones, voicing the question that had plagued her mind. “Was it my fault? He told me to be quiet, and I did not.” 

“No.” The advisor’s eyes were honest as he spoke, and yet she did not feel any better. “It was not you fault, my Lady.” 

Her eyes turned in the direction of the bed. The King of Mirkwood had not moved and inch. He looked so frail, so tired. She wanted to curl there next to him on the bed, to hold him in the same he had held all night long on that couch they night he had rescued her from the storm. 

“I will go make sure everything is in order.” The blond advisor told her as he turned to head out of the room, dark blue eyes looking at her in a dismissive manner. “My Lord needs to rest.” 

“I am not going anywhere.” She whispered in return, her voice speaking her thoughts without her being able to control herself. 

Then, to her surprise, Doronor’s lips curved up in the faintest of smirks, a new sparkle gleaming in his serene dark blue eyes, and just for that split second she got the feeling that her words had been precisely the ones he had been expecting to hear. The blond advisor nodded his head, not saying anything else as he walked out of the room, his long formal robes tailing behind him with a deaf sound. 

“My Lord suffers from a migraine and is not to be disturbed.” She could hear Doronor informing the guards outside the door, but she was no longer paying attention to that. No. She only had eyes for the only other figure left in the room with her, the one that for the past months had become the center of her attention. 

As gently as she could, Alarya sat on the edge of the mattress, trying to move as little as possible, knowing any king of movement will not help with his headache. Thranduil did not move, did not react in any way, his piercing ice blue eyes she so adored hidden underneath the cool cloth. She did the only thing she could think of doing, the only thing that she knew would soothe him as it always it, the only kind of comfort she could give that she knew he specially liked: She stroked his hair. Her delicate fingers travelled down his long light blond hair, as softly and tenderly as she could. 

“Arya?” She heard Thranduil’s whispered voice, one of his hands removing the cool cloth from his eyes to be able to look at her. It was not entirely new for him to call her by that shortened name, and still she once again felt the fluttering warmth that spread inside her body every time she heard him call her that. Dazzed sky blue eyes stared up at her, iced irises melted in an infinitely expanding tranquil sea, so gentle she wanted to melt into them, unable to look anywhere else. He seemed confused, drowsy. It would not be long until the draught sent him to sleep. 

“Go to sleep.” She whispered in a barely audible voice, pressing the softest of kisses on his cheek before replacing the cloth back over his eyes. 

“Are we done arguing?” He asked, his voice sounding overly tired. Yes, it would not be long until he fell asleep. 

“Not even close.” She added with a slight chuckle, careful not to make any loud sound as to not disturb him. He did not answer, his lips curving up in a small smile. 

She did not know for how long she sat there in the darkness of his bedchambers, watching the few rays of sunlight that filtered dimly through the curtains turned orange then red until finally disappear into the blackness of the night. She was oblivious to the many elves that carried on with their daily life outside in the grand halls of the Palace; oblivious to the trees whose melancholic lullaby danced in the gentle grasp of the wind; oblivious to her parents wondering where she was; oblivious to the tiny pinecone, painted in the palest shade of blue sitting right there in the same room as she, on top of a small table near one of the tall windows, the small card with her handwriting and signature neatly placed beside it. 

Thranduil rested for most of the next day, falling in and out of sleep. She spent most of the day with him, in the tranquility of his chambers, somehow no longer feeling like an intruder in a private space. More than once he left her hanging mid-sentence, falling asleep to the sound of her voice, and she found herself simply talking non-stop whenever she started to notice him getting tired. She did not ask him about what had happened to him, did not ask what it was that had attacked the previous day, pushing into his mind with such a strength. There would plenty of time for him to explain. Their argument was never mentioned, already forgotten, and it was not until two days later that she even remembered their heated discussion, as her father returned to their family sitting room one afternoon carrying what seemed to be a written note in his hands, his green eyes, so much like hers, looking directly at her mother as he announced: “The King has accepted our invitation.” 

She did not know what she felt. Joy? Yes. But not the kind of joy one gets from winning. No. It was a different kind of joy, a different kind of feeling, accompanied by the same soothing warmth that filled her body every time he said her name. It was something deeper than joy, something she could not name. The King had yielded, and strange enough she did not find the fact that he would attend the celebration what caused her such joy. No. She could not care less about the celebration. It was the intention behind his action, the words she would read in between his acceptance what placed a smile on her face. 

That night, as she stepped into her bedchamber, she found a single golden flower, one that only grew in the green forests of Mirkwood, waiting for her over her dresser, accompanied by a small note adorned by his elegant calligraphy. 

Next time it is your turn.

She could not contain the smile that drew on her face, almost hearing his voice mocking her as he wrote on the note. And yet, what truly made the smile on her face reach her eyes and stay there permanently for the rest of the night was the knowledge that he did not mean any single one of those words. It was not what was written in the note, but it was what she could read in it; what he had intended for her to read in it. For her, he would be willing to yield.


	9. Summer

The soothing breeze of summer entered through the oversized balcony, waltzing to the rhythm the soft melody of the swaying trees outside. The warm rays of golden sunlight washed over the green forest outside, the vast blue sky devoid of any clouds. All kinds of wild birds chirped upon the branches, adding their songs to the multiple summer solstice’s celebrations that were currently taking place all over the Greenwood. 

King Thranduil stood inside his large bedchambers, tall and regal, dressed in formal robes of a rich olive color, the fabric falling gracefully all the way to the floor, embroidered in intricate patterns of golden thread and pearls. His long blond hair fell perfectly combed down his back and to his waist, tiny silver beads incrusted in his braids. The Elvenking wore no crown, the physical symbol of his status currently laying neatly on its open cushioned box over his dresser. There would be no need for him to wear his crown today. He was already going to stand out enough at Alarya’s family’s summer solstice celebration. He definitely did not need the crown to make the situation any more awkward. 

The light sound of approaching footsteps made him turn his head towards the door where he caught sight of his closest friend and advisor appearing at the doorframe. Doronor bowed respectfully before entering the piece, stopping only some steps in front of him. 

“Everything is ready, my Lord. Your escort awaits you.” Said his advisor with a slight bow of his head. Those were precisely the words he had been vainly hoping would never come. He did not miss the silent smirk that crept over his friend’s face as he spoke, and simply shot his iced eyes in his direction, a burning look that meant the advisor was not allowed to comment on the situation. 

“Thank you, Doronor.” He replied with a small nod, silently walking out of the comfort of his chambers as his advisor held the door open for him, still smirking remorselessly, although wise enough to keep his mouth shut. 

The way down to the main entrance of the Palace seemed shorter than ever before. With every step he took forward he longed to take two steps back. Oh, Valar, he wanted the celebration to be over and it had not even started. Truth was, he had now idea what to expect, what he was supposed to do? Or to say? This simple family celebration challenged all of his knowledge. Elbereth! He would rather sit at a table full of dwarves. At least there he would know how to act! 

A group of guards was already waiting for him at the main courtyard of the Palace, as expected, all of them bowing their heads respectfully as he approached. Silently, Thranduil made his way towards a young elf he did not know the name of, who was currently holding the reins of his horse, simply nodding his head politely as the elf relinquished the reins to his extended hand. He leaped effortlessly on the back of the magnificent white animal, draping his long elegant robes over his bent arm as he lifted the other, the gesture weightless, almost lazy, but it did not take any other kind of command from his part for the small party of guards to start their march. 

Thranduil rode at the front, as he customarily did, and it took nearly all of his willpower to keep the horse going forward. Much to his chagrin, he knew the way to Alarya’s house in the forest was not a long one, no matter how much he wished at that moment that her house was in Imladris, or Lorien, or somewhere far, far away, were he would not be able to make it in time for the celebration. Of course he had not told Alarya, but the main reason he was so reluctant about joining her celebration was that he, the mighty King of Greenwood the Great, did not know how to attend such a simple thing as a family lunch. He was clueless, completely lost. He knew how to be King, how to rule, how to lead thousands of warriors in battle, how to deal with crisis, deal with orc raids, spiders and other things. He knew how to host large celebrations, how to entertain guests at his dinner table, how to behave as a guest at other realms, how to address another King, a Lord, a servant. It seemed utterly and enterily baffling that such a simple, easy thing as a casual lunch terrified him thus. Valar, why had he agreed to come? And yet, what really made him wish he could just escape back to the Palace was the sole thought that he would be forced to interact with Lasgaer. No, he would not think about that now. 

He came to a halt once they had reached the main entrance of the large house where Alarya used to formerly reside. She and her family had left the Palace the day before, probably to make sure they had all the preparations readied for the celebration today. He had sent an escort of guards with them as well. Even though the path through his lands was entirely safe, he would rather not run the risk of anything happening. 

The structure before his eyes was simple, and yet beautiful, in the same style as the rest of the houses that populated his realm. The house seemed to merge with the trees surrounding it, its many balconies and ample rooms hiding in the large towering branches, until it was nearly impossible to distinguish between the two. Lord Lasgaer and his wife were already outside by the time he gracefully dismounted his horse, the master of the house walking forward to greet him. 

“My Lord” The renown warrior bowed his head as he spoke and Thranduil simply nodded his head politely in return, although part of him told him that this would not be the only formal greeting he would receive during this celebration. “It is a pleasure and an honor to receive you.” 

“The honor is mine.” He replied in his calmed voice, turning his ice blue eyes in the direction of the warrior’s wife, Lady Laessel, who was now curtsying with a wide smile on her fair face. The Lady seemed more relaxed than her husband about the situation. 

“Welcome to our house, your Majesty.” The fair Lady greeted gracefully. For the first time he noticed how much Alarya resembled her mother. Although she had the green eyes and golden hair of Lasgaer, her sheer elegance and tall presence was definitely from her mother. 

“Thank you, my Lady.” He said politely again, nodding his head in greeting. “And please, there is no need for such formalities, you may call me Thranduil.” 

The lady simply nodded her head somewhat uncomfortable, and he knew for sure that his request would be thoroughly ignored. At least he had tried. He could see Lasgaer shifting awkwardly on his feet, it seemed the respected warrior was at as much loss about this whole celebration as he himself was. Valar, he wanted to leave! A long second of silence settled between the three of them, and Thranduil understood this as his cue to do something, anything, before the situation could become any more uncomfortable or the silence any longer. 

Slowly, he turned to face his escort once more, the guards still dutifully waiting on the back of their horses, remaining a proper distance behind him. The King of Mirkwood gracefully lifted his hand in a silent dismissal, watching as the group of guards bowed their heads wordlessly before turning around and marching back through the dense forest. Oh, Elbereth! How much he wanted to return with his guards! It had only been a couple of minutes since he had arrived and already he wanted to leave! 

He turned again to face the warrior and his wife, both of whom were still silently standing before him, as if suddenly petrified to the soft green grass underneath their feet. In fact, he would have entirely believed they had turned into stone if it were not for Lasgaer’s constant uncomfortable shifting. Both husband and wife were dressed in a rich emerald color – as it was customary for elves to wear green for summer solstice- Lady Laessel nearly dripping in jewels that were either sewn to her long formal dress of incrusted in her neat intricate braids. The warrior’s hard green eyes kept looking at him expectantly, although not really meeting his eyes, and for a moment it seemed that both Lord and Lady had forgotten that they were the ones hosting the celebration. 

“May I come in?” He helped, his eyes looking in the direction of the neatly carved wooden door behind the two elves. The Lord and Lady seemed to wake up from a daze at his words, suddenly remembering to move and speak and his next few minutes were spent in rushed replies of “Of course, your Majesty, forgive me” and “Yes, my Lord, my apologies, this way please.” Oh, he was going to kill Alarya! And why was she not here helping out? It appeared very clear that she was the only one comfortable with this arrangement. 

Inside the house, he was led to a large room, one that opened in at least four ample terraces, seeming to have no enclosing walls at all. He could see a medium sized table furnishing one side of the room –where the meal would be served not doubt- and some comfortable seats as well as a couch on the other side. The bottom steps of a cozy staircase curved up from one corner of the room, going up and up along the branches of an old majestic tree until they disappeared around a curve, making it impossible to see where they landed above. Six elves already filled the room, all of them in different shades of greens, from the darkest shades that resembled the sleeping forest underneath a black sky, to ones as pale as the new leaves blossoming at the end of the tree branches. 

And that was when he saw her. She had her back to him, standing at one end of the room facing one of her cousins who seemed to be teasing her –although he knew not which one. Her long locks of golden hair flowed nearly weightlessly down her back in an intricate arrangement of braids that seemed to be made out pure gold. Tiny pearls adorned her entire head, and he was sure that to him, that simple tiny jewel had never before seemed so beautiful. She wore a long green dress, in the bright shade of summer leaves, the fine fabric falling weightlessly around her small, delicate body, pearls dripping from her bare shoulders and down her arms, seemed to be the thing composing the sleeves of her dress. 

It was Alarya’s cousin what gave him away, when his green eyes suddenly caught him standing some distance away and suddenly stopped whatever tale he was telling her. She turned around on the spot, her dazzling eyes dancing across the room before they fell on his. Bright emerald irises landed easily on his, all of the jewels in her hair and dress suddenly seeming to loose their splendor in comparison to the light shimmering inside her deep endless eyes. Just as every time he looked into them, they seemed impenetrable, impossible to read and at the same time welcoming, like the kind song of the grad forest outside, glistening with a playful sparkle that seemed to mock the entire world around her. And he knew the reason why he had agreed to come to this celebration in the first place. 

Ever so elegantly, she walked in his direction, and he could not help but smile as wide grin lit up her entire face. Every single one of her moves seemed to be effortless, carrying an aura of authority that made her presence impossible to ignore wherever she went. 

“You came!” She exclaimed in a soft voice as she reached the place where he stood, lacing one of her arms around his. 

“I said I would.” Was his answer, and it was proving to be very hard for him not to simple press his lips to hers in a kiss right then and there. He still did not know how it had happened, or when, but she had become the center of his existence, and she probably did not even know. Yes, she had had his attention since the first time he had met her, but mostly out of entertainment and curiosity, things that of course latter transformed into affection. But now he was sure that it was not mere affection what he felt for her. 

“Come, the meal will not be served until at least one more hour.” She said in her usual casual tone, guiding him in the direction of the long couch in one corner of the room. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the cousin Alarya had been talking too still looking at him rather stunned. 

“You did not tell your family I was coming, I assume.” He added in a low voice sat down beside him on the long couch, the pearls in her hair dancing with the slight movement. She smiled sheepishly in return. 

“Of course I did.” She sounded somewhat guilty and not entirely convincing as she spoke. “Both of my parents were very well aware that you would be joining us today.” 

Oh, she was smart. She was trying to sneak past his question only providing half of the answer. As if he would not notice. 

“I mean the rest of your family.” 

Her smile now turned into a guilty apologetic grin, and although he had the inner urge to strangle her for putting him in this situation, he found that when she smiled like that, he simply could not be angry with her. 

“Arya!” He protested, shaking his head slightly, not able to contain a defeated chuckle. 

“I am sorry!” She whispered, the grin still present in her fair face, her eyes sparkling like those of a child doing mischief as her delicate hand rubbed his upper arm apologetically. “I forgot to mention it!” 

“Wine, my Lord?” 

He turned his head to find a servant offering him a glass filled with red wine. The servant’s eyes looed at the floor as he spoke, his head bowed. 

“Yes, thank you.” He said as he accepted the glass. Wine, what a splendid idea at the moment. He needed it. He absently the servant left to offer wine to other elves conversing inside the room before his eyes returned to fall on Alarya’s large green ones. She held a glass of white wine in her own delicate hands. 

“You know, Thranduil, my father’s biggest worry for the past week was that you would not like his wine.” She said with a light laugh that once again made him want to wrap his arms around her small body and hold her close to him. 

“Is that so?” He arched a fair eyebrow in return, not able to take his eyes away from her as she absently placed a lock of her golden hair behind her pointed ear. 

“Yes.” She added casually. The way she could speak so easily and freely and at the same time still look so elegant and regal, never ceased to amaze him. “So would you kindly remember to mention him at some point that the wine is good?” 

He let his eyebrow arch even further. Oh, he felt like laughing now. After she had forgotten the tiny request he had made her after accepting her invitation to please not let his presence be a surprise for her family as to not make things more uncomfortable for any of them. And she was now asking him to casually mention something in return. Then again he was not surprised coming form her. After all, she was the same elleth that had dared ask him his name in the middle of dinner at his own table. Of all bold things to do, she had asked his name, a thing she of course had known beforehand. 

“What if I forget to mention it?” He teased, knowing full well that he would comply with her request no matter what. Still, she did not yet know that. 

“Thranduil, I said I was sorry!” She protested in a low voice, her pleading eyes looking apologetic but not even a bit regretful. 

“I will be sorry as well.” He added in return and she simply narrowed her eyes at him, although he could tell she was not really angry with him. 

She made as if to stand, but he quickly and discretely grabbed her by the arm, gently but firmly pulling her back down to sit next to him, making sure that his hold on her was always tender, almost scared to hurt her delicate arm by pressing too hard on her soft skin. 

“Oh, you are not leaving me here sitting by myself.” He whispered as she reluctantly sank down beside him. “This was your idea after all.” 

To his slight amusement and annoyance he saw the edges of her mouth curving up into a smirk as her eyes openly seemed to mock him, and at the same the depths of her forest green eyes sparkled with a real smile. 

“Fine.” She complied, her voice echoing with feigned reluctance as she made herself comfortable on the couch. And just like that he knew she would stay by his side, a thought that suddenly made him feel more relaxed than ever since he had stepped foot outside his chambers earlier that day. 

“But you will mention to my father that his wine is good.” She insisted, taking a sip of her own white wine. 

“Why should I?” He reminded her as he raised his eyebrow again, unable to contain a smile at her authoritative tone. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see two of Alarya’s cousins throwing looks in his direction, as if trying to decide whether or not to approach, still looking stunned, as if they had lost all the courage they had. “You forgot my only request.” 

“Oh, Thranduil.” She tried to plead with her eyes, but still he did not comply, merely taking a sip from his own wine before sitting back against the cushions. 

“Very well.” She suddenly said, her lips curving up in a playful smile that he immediately knew meant he could not trust. What was she planning now? “You casually let it slip that you like the wine, and once we get back to the Palace I will stroke your hair for as long as you wish.” 

Oh, she knew just how to manipulate him! He had to make an effort not to simply laugh in defeat. Oh, Valar, if only she knew what she could do to him. Her emerald eyes kept looking at him expectantly, sparkling almost victoriously. If only she knew that he would comply still comply with her request without really expecting anything in return. He would comply with any of her requests, no matter how baffling they could be if it would simply made her smile. But then again, it was better if she did not know that just yet. 

“And…?” He pressed, his eyebrow still raised. 

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, seeming to be considering whether or not to say what he wanted to hear. After what seemed like a long second she finally added. “And you may fall asleep while I do so.” 

“Agreed.” He said almost immediately, fighting the urge to gently kiss her lips for what seemed like the thousandth time that day. A chorus of musical laughter escaped her lips in return, the sound she sweetest her ears had ever heard. 

He did not get a chance to say anything else for at that moment, Lasgaer and his wife came to join them, taking the seats directly in front of them. He also noticed the warrior’s brother, Agarben, and his wife, a beautiful dark haired lady he did not know the name of, coming to join them as well. 

“Your Majesty.” Said Agarben bowing hi head in greeting before taking a seat. 

“Lord Agarben.” He returned the greeting with a polite nod of the head, feeling the urge to yell at Alarya for simply wonderful idea of having him come to her family’s celebration. Oh, Valar, could she not tell how uncomfortable everyone seemed? Well, everyone except Alarya’s mother. Yes, somehow all of her previous nerves seemed to have transformed into sheer delight, although he could not quite understand why. 

Lasgaer’s eyes kept glancing in his direction, looking away whenever he met his eyes, even though he still looked tall and powerful as the respected warrior of old times he was. It seemed that for a moment, Lasgaer was having trouble in deciding whether to behave as the master of the house and Alarya’s father, or as the warrior loyal to his King. Thranduil could easily tell that the warrior did not quite know whether he should be imposing or submissive. Elbereth, Eru, Iluvatar, he wanted to leave! 

“Thank you for your kind invitation, Lord Lasgaer.” He broke the silence before the awkwardness could become obvious. Next to him, Alarya seemed as relaxed and delighted as her mother. 

“My King is always welcome in my home.” Replied the warrior politely. “I trust you had a pleasant journey here, my Lord?” 

“I did indeed. You have a beautiful home, and your wine I dare say is very good.” Was his answer, fighting back a smile as he felt Alarya discretely give his hand a small squeeze. 

“Thank you.” Thranduil heard her whisper without even moving her lips, the words so low he was sure no one else but him had caught them. 

“I will hold you to your part of the deal.” He replied in the same discrete tone. He could hear Lasgaer going on about the wine and explaining details of he house and he easily pretended to be fully listening. Out of the corner of his eyes he would still Alarya’s three cousins sitting some distance away from them, still looking disbelieved, discretely peeking in his direction every two minutes, but not really daring to approach. 

He did not know how long it was until finally Lady Laessel called for her guests to move towards the next room for the meal to start. Part of him felt relieved to be freed from this small, relatively forced conversations for a moment, and yet other part of him knew that he would be forced to keep them going at the table. 

Alarya was nearly the first one on her feet, her dress twirling dreamily around her small frame as she nearly waltzed out of the room with her mother. Slowly, every elf in the house started to vacate the large sitting room, and he could hear the movement of chairs in the next room as they started to take their seats the table. 

“May I have a word with you, my Lord?” 

Lasgaer’s voice caught him nearly by surprise just as he was rising to his feet, but he did not show it in his face. The sitting room was completely empty by now, he and the warrior being the only two elves remaining in the vast open space. The master of the house had also risen to his feet, politely standing in front of him, his head slightly bowed respectfully, and yet his silent green eyes stared at him with an unreadable expression. 

“Of course.” Was all he could say, unable to guess in which the direction would this conversation go. The noble warrior nodded his head in return, and Thranduil followed him in silence as he walked towards the only balcony in the ample room, under the shade of a magnificent old tree. 

“First, allow me to properly thank you for you hospitality this past months.” The warrior turned to face him as he spoke. “Laessel and I are very grateful to you for letting us stay at your Palace.” 

Thranduil waved off his thanks with a graceful movement of the hand. “No need for that.” 

Lasgaer bowed his head in reply, but chose to not continue with his thanking comments. Instead the warrior drove the conversation in a different direction. 

“I know my daughter can be very insistent, your Majesty. I presume she is the one responsible for arranging this entire celebration.” The warrior chuckled slightly as he spoke and for the first time that day Thranduil felt that he could relate to him. Lasgaer wanted celebration to be over just as much as he did, and just for a second, the situation seemed less uncomfortable. 

“She can be quite insistent, yes.” He agreed, waiting as the warrior turned once again to face him. 

“Alarya is very strong willed….very stubborn- just as you, my Lord, if I may say.” The warrior paused to let out another light laugh at his raised eyebrow. But then, his expression turned serious again, almost melancholic. “But she is my only daughter, and you must understand that I only want what is best for her. I do not doubt that your intentions towards her are but the best, and I did not get the chance to tell you just how grateful I am to you for going after her night the night of the storm.” 

Thranduil simply nodded his head patiently, not knowing what to say, but feeling that it was not his time to speak. He had known Lord Lasgaer for a long time. The elf had fought beside him and his own father during the Last Alliance, and was no stranger in the court. And yet, for the very first time in his life the warrior seemed more than simply a respected figure of his realm, for the first time his green eyes seemed friendly without having anything to do with his tittle of King. 

“I simply want to know that you will continue to take care of her. After all she is the most precious thing I have.” 

Lasgaer’s deep green eyes stared at his openly, honestly, and in that moment there was no King in the room, no loyal warrior, only two elves, two equals. 

“I love Alarya.” He did not even realized his words until he had said them. Finally, for the first time, those wards that had been floating inside his mind for the past month, haunting his dreams and consuming every single one of his thoughts, escaped his mouth with an ease he found hard to believe. He had not said that out loud before, and yet, as his own voice echoed in his ears he could not help but understand how much he meant them. 

A small smile appeared on Lasgaer’s face, his green eyes never leaving Thranduil’s ice blue ones, and for the first time that day, the smile reached his eyes. 

“Have you told her?” The warrior’s eyes drifted out into the forest, the small smile never leaving his face, and for a second it seemed that the father’s joy was draped in sorrow, but nonetheless it was joy. 

“No.” Thranduil said, feeling rather guilty for his answer. His word however, did not seem to make any change in the warrior’s expression who simply nodded his head, still smiling sadly. 

“My Lord Lasgaer.” Thranduil started, causing the warrior to turn his head to look at him. He did not really form where he was getting the courage to finally ask for the only thing he had wanted for the past months. And yet, never before had he felt so sure in his long life. “I want to marry your daughter, if you would allow it.” 

Never before had he wanted anything as much as he wanted Alarya. He did not why, he could barely understand it, but what was there to understand? The only he could think of day and night was of her sweet song-like voice, her bell-like laughter that seem to float weightlessly in the air, her aura of elegance and authority even when she was in the most ridiculous of situations, her impossibly stubborn character, the way her large green eyes at times seemed to betray every single emotions as open as book and yet other times they were simply impossible to read, impenetrable, the way his name flowed easily out of her mouth. 

Lasgaer looked at him for a moment, and then, slowly, his smile widened. He did not now whether or not the warrior had already suspected he would eventually ask for his daughter’s hand. 

“No elf in Arda will ever be good enough for my daughter. However, there is no other elf that could ever make her as happy as she will be with you. So yes, my Lord, you may have her hand and my blessings for whenever it is you choose to ask her to marry you.” 

Thranduil did not know what exactly he had been expecting to hear, and still the moment he heard his answer a wide smile drew on his face, unable to contain it any longer. He had never felt this kind of joy before. To his surprise, the warrior’s eyes sparkled with a smile as wide as his, and for a second all sorrow and melancholy about giving away his daughter seemed to vanish from Lasgaer’s eyes. 

“My daughter, Queen of the Greenwood.” The warrior muttered to himself, as if still not believing those words. Thrandiul did not know why, but hearing those words made him smile all over again. Then, Lasgaer turned again to look at him in the eyes, the wide smile still present on his face. “Who would have thought?” 

The King of Mirkwood let out a chuckle. “I am still afraid she might not want that tittle.” 

The respected warrior laughed along, shaking his head slightly. “I know my daughter, and if that is what makes her your wife, then she will gladly take it.” 

A small smile appeared on Thranduil’s face, the warrior’s words serving to somehow reassure him. 

“Besides.” Lasgaer continued. “You will never be bored with her. And you will most certainly have someone to argue with for the rest of eternity.” 

“We have been arguing since we met.” 

That made he warrior laugh, all traces of pain and sorrow vanishing from his eyes as he simply looked elated now. “Come! This merits a celebration, and luckily for us, one is just about to start in the next room.” 

And just like that, the warrior placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder, guiding him to the large dinning room already full of chatting elves. No one asked about the King and warrior’s sudden good mood, or about the previous wariness that had unexpectedly for everyone transformed into friendship. Lasgaer order for his best wine to be served, and everyone drank merrily, celebrating the summer’s solstice, all of them oblivious to the small agreement that had taken place only seconds ago in the solitude of the balcony. All of them oblivious that in a little more that a year Mirkwood would finally have a Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again another chapter! :) Thank you very very much for your lovely comments! You made my day zoo much brighter! :) :)


	10. Chapter 10

Alarya walked in silence. The long elegant corridors of the Palace stretched endlessly in front of her, the tall pointed arches whispering soft songs into the wind high above her head as she made her way towards the King’s study. It was well past noon and she had not yet seen Thranduil that day. Or course, he had been stuck in council the entire morning and she also knew that since autumn had finally come his workload had seemed to double. She had spent the entire morning with her mother walking along the now gold and red gardens, but she had found that she could not contain herself any longer. Her entire self longed to see him at least for a couple of minutes. 

A group of maids walked past her, bowing their heads politely and adding a low “My Lady”. She returned the greeting with a curt nod of her head, fighting back an amused grin from showing on her face. She could see the maids exchanging mirthful looks between them as they walked away, whispering and fighting back short giggles. Oh, Valar. That had seemed to become a routine now. It seemed that ever since the rumors about her relationship with the Elvenking had spread throughout the entire realm, every single maid and guard inside the Palace would acknowledge her presence with a newfound respect and curiosity. She had felt slightly panicked at first, but her fear soon turned to entertainment as she simply got used to it. 

Finally, she reached the large pair of beautifully crafted wooden doors that led to the King’s study. Two guards stood dutifully to either side of them, the two of which she immediately recognized. After all it had become a sort of a habit for her to show up in front of this large doors entirely unannounced. She was about to push the door open when the sound of approaching footsteps caught her attention. 

“Lady Alarya! How do you fare this beautiful afternoon?” She turned her head to glance at the quickly approaching Doronor, deep blue robes trailing behind his elegant figure. Where had he come from? He had certainly not been in the hallway a minute ago. Ad yet what she puzzled her the most was the advisor’s wide smile and over excitement as he greeted her, as if suddenly he was interested in actually conversing with her. 

“I am very well, Lord Doronor, thank you.” She returned the greeting slightly confused, smiling rather hesitantly at the usually stoic advisor’s friendly look. Pushing her puzzlement to the back of her mind she turned her attention once again to the majestic door in front of her, lifting her hand to the elegant golden knob. And yet, to her further annoyance, his hand quickly caught her arms before she could push the door open, suddenly turning her away from the majestic pair of wooden doors and starting to lead her gently through the hallway. What was wrong with him? 

“Tell me, my Lady, have you seen the new blossoms in the gardens? Word has reached my ears that they are particularly beautiful this day.” He suddenly said, and even though his voice sounded legitimately interested in said blossoms she found it hard to believe a single word he was saying. Since when was the blond advisor interested in talking about the blossoms in the gardens? Where had this sudden interest in having a small talk with her come from? 

“Oh, in that case, my Lord, I will make sure to take another walk through the gardens sometime this afternoon.” I was hard to hide the suspicion and puzzlement from showing on her voice as she discreetly and politely freed her arm from his hold, once again turning to the large pairs of doors that led to the elegant study. 

“Ah, but it might rain this afternoon, Lady Alarya. I would not want you to miss the opportunity of gazing upon such beautiful blossoms.” He insisted, once again starting to lead down the hallway. She fought back an exasperated sigh, her eyes turning to the large windows that traced the corridor. The sun was bright and high in the sky, not a single cloud in the vast blue mantle. From where in Arda had he gotten the idea that it might rain? Why the sudden urge for her to go see whichever blossom in this exact moment? 

“I can assure, my Lord, that it will be all right if I do not see the blossoms right now. I can see them tomorrow if it rains.” She stared at him strangely as she spoke, once again turning to the large pairs of doors. By the Valar! She simply wanted to see Thranduil for a minute! 

Doronor, however, seemed to have other ideas for once again he stopped her hand from turning the golden knob, almost too quickly. This time, however, she did not give a chance to come up with another idea of things she should go do or see right now. 

“What now?” She asked, all traces of formality vanished from her voice, which now betrayed her clear exasperation. The golden haired advisor simply opened his mouth, dark blue eyes suddenly seeming out of excuses. Valar, what had gotten into Doronor today? This was most unlike him. She was loosing her patience. 

“Lord Doronor, is there a reason why you are clearly attempting to prevent me from seeing the King?” She raised a fair delicate eyebrow as she spoke, standing as tall as possible, her annoyed forest green eyes staring into his silent dark blue ones. 

Silence settled between the two. At that precise moment, once of the large pair of doors was softly pushed open, and she turned her impatient eyes to find a tall dark-haired elf silently exiting the piece. She had no idea what his name was, but she recognized him as the master jeweler of the Palace. The dark haired elf bowed his head in a wordless greeting, and she simply returned the gesture, turning her attention expectantly back to Doronor as she heard the distancing footsteps of the jeweler. 

“No.” The advisor suddenly said, his face as peaceful as ever, shaking his head casually. “No reason. Go ahead, go in.” 

What in Arda? Alarya threw the advisor another suspicious look as the latter simply turned on his heels and peacefully strode down the hallway. What in the name of the Valar had gotten hold of Doronor? She simply shook her head, choosing to ignore this most strange encounter, and finally pushed the heavenly crafted door open. 

The room inside looked exactly the same as ever. The bright golden rays of the sun filtering through the fall windows, washing on the exquisite carpet, and tracing in colors the backs of the thousands of books neatly resting on the majestic walls And yet, none of this seemed able to call the attention of her eyes, for they were solely focus on the only other elf that occupied the room. 

Thranduil’s ice blue eyes lifted in her direction the moment he heard the door opening, a warm smile suddenly drawing on his handsome pale face. She felt her heart flutter inside her chest at the mere sight of him. The Elvenking sat elegantly behind the large oak desk, looking as royal and simply powerful as ever. His long formal robes, in the colors of olives and wine, flowed down to his feet, the rich golden embroidery beautifully reflecting the dancing sunrays, which kissed his long blond hair with a touch of silver. She walked in his direction, unable to hold back her smile, and he followed her with his eyes as she made her way to where he sat. 

“What brings you here?” He asked gently as he pulled her to sit on his lap, allowing her arms to loosely wrap around his neck. 

“Just wanted to see you.” She simply shrugged, turning her curious eyes to the piles of parchments spread on his desk. She could feel his arms circling around her small waist, the weight of his chin on her right shoulder. “What are these?” 

“Reports from patrols.” He answered almost absent-minded and she founder herself shivering slightly as she felt his lips travelling along the side of her neck. That was it, she could not stop herself and simply turned her head to face him, closing the gap between their lips in a gentle loving kiss. 

“Have you come to distract me from my duties?” Ice blue eyes gleamed sheepishly as he spoke and she could not contain a small laugh. 

“If you are too busy at the moment, your Majesty, I will retire.” She started to rise from his lap but he quickly pulled her back down wrapping his arms more securely around the small frame, making another round of chuckles to escape her mouth.

“No you will not.” She heard him whispering on her ear, sending another wave of tremors down her spine. 

“You still owe me something.” He suddenly added, a gorgeous grin adorning his fair face as his piercing ice blue eyes sparkled victoriously. She found herself laughing again as she immediately understood what he meant. Of course. He had not missed a chance to remind her that she still had to fulfill her part of the deal at the day of summer solstice’s celebration. It had been almost a full month now. 

“And how, Thranduil, do you expect me to stroke your hair while it is always tied up in thousands of braids? Not to mention the crown!” She grinned in return as she spoke, using the first excuse that came to her mind, watching as he narrowed his eyes at her, raising one fair eyebrow in return. 

“Oh, please, that is a poor excuse.” The Elvenking pointed out, lips twitching in mocking smile. “You are more creative than that.” 

She simply smiled guiltily at him, placing yet another kiss on his lips as an apologetic gesture and he found him returning the kiss, his hands lacing with hers on her lap. 

“Do not even start to think that will make forget that you still owe me.” He added after they lips parted, and she simply smiled defeated, once again turning her attention to the many parchments upon his desk as she felt his chin once again resting on her collarbone. 

“Is that your signature?” She asked as one of her hands pointed to the bottom of one of the many scribbled parchments. The yellowing paper was filled with his neat, elegant handwriting, and there, at the bottom, she could perfectly read his name in the same elegant scribble. 

“Yes.” He answered almost puzzled, as if he did not understand her interest in that topic. She had never seen his signature before, other than in a much plain version in the bottom of the letters they had exchanged many months ago, and she did not know why but it felt sort of exciting and new to her to lay eyes upon the royal signature, the only set of ordered letters that had complete authority in the realm. 

It was perhaps out of amusement or simple curiosity- she could not tell which- that she gently took the jewel incrusted quill resting only inches from her right hand, and slowly, almost boringly, starting copying the same patterns of the curly, slanted letters in another blank parchment. 

“Alarya!” She hard Thranduil exclaim from behind her, his voice speaking in between a shock chuckle, sounding utterly bewildered as he quickly snatched the parchment in which she had written, ice blue eyes closely eyeing the absolutely exact replica of his signature. 

She watched as his wide eyes turned to look at her, the expression of his face absolutely stunned, making her laugh lightly once more as his eyes turned once again to study the parchment in his hands, shaking his head slightly. 

“How…? …I could have written this!” He muttered almost to himself, chocked eyes turning to meet hers once more. Then, almost speechless, he placed the parchment back upon the desk, directly in front of her. “Can you do it again?” 

Alarya shook her head lightly, once again letting the exquisite quill dance over the piece of parchment, producing a second exact replica of the King’s official signature. For the second time his reaction was the same, snatching the piece of paper to look at it intently, bewildered. 

“How in Arda?” He muttered as his ice blue eyes travelled over the written name before once again fixing on her amused forest green ones. “You do know it worries me greatly to know that you can perfectly forge my signature? Please promise me you will never do that.” 

She shook her head lightly, still smiling, before pressing a gently kiss on his cheek. “I will never do that, Thranduil.” She said in a reassuring voice, knowing very well that it was not that he distrusted her but that he needed to be sure she understood the importance that his sole signature carried. After all it was that signature the one able to command and rule the Kingdom of Mirkwood. 

He relaxed upon hearing her words and she once again felt his strong arms curling around her waist, his lips pressing a kiss on her right cheek. “I still cannot understand how you did that.” 

She simply shrugged, curiosity once again taking control of her as she let her eyes continue to study all the items that lay upon his large oak desk. Many tiny crystal flasks lay neatly ordered to one end, filled the fine black ink. One thick book lay open to one side, its pages covered with more pieces of parchments where the King had been taking neat annotations on its contents. And then another thing caught her attention, it was a very small black velvet box resting on the far left end of the desk. Her hand extended in its direction, but Thranduil beat her to it, quickly grabbing the little velvet box before she could lay a hand upon it. 

“That is mine.” Was the simple explanation he used as she saw him deposit it in one of the drawers before closing it out of her view. She did not ask about it, suddenly feeling that she had no right to simply go through his things when she had not been given permission to do so. She searched in his eyes for any sign of anger from his part but he did not seem bothered by it, on the contrary, his face remained as peaceful and handsome as ever. 

She did not have time to further ponder on the situation however, for a knock sounded on the door at that exact moment. 

“Enter” The King called just as she rose from his lap, moving to sit at one of the comfortable chairs on the other side of Thranduil’s desk. She turned her head just in time to see Doronor walk inside the room, carrying a small pile of papers in his hands. The advisor stopped at the entrance of the study, bowing respectfully at his King before continuing his way towards the large oak desk. 

“Here are the reports you have asked for, my Lord.” Doronor’s voice was once its usual strong and calmed voice as he deposited the papers on his King’s awaiting hands. She could not help but gaze at him confusedly. He was clearly back to his normal self. What had all that fuss earlier about her going to the gardens been about? 

“Thank you.” Came Thranduil’s reply as his ice blue eyes quickly scanned over the new pile of papers in his hands before neatly placing them upon the desk’s surface. “Have the new patrol routes already been assigned respectfully?” 

“Yes, my Lord.” Was Doronor’s answer with a curt nod of his head before he added. “I have come to inform you that a group of men has been found wondering through the forest. They are currently being brought into the Palace and should be here within the hour.” 

The Elvenking simply nodded his head and she could not hide her curiosity form showing on her face, even though she remained sitting quietly and elegantly. She watched in silence as Thranduil rose to his feet, his olive and red robes flowing elegantly to the floor beneath his feet. He looked tall, royal, every inch the mighty Elvenking he was. 

“Very well. I shall receive them in the throne room.” Thranduil’s voice was so powerful, yet so serene, and she understood that this was her cue to leave, also standing to her feet. 

Doronor simply nodded his head, waiting for his King to exit the piece first. Such thing, however, never came to pass for Thranduil had only taken but a couple of steps towards the large pairs of doors when he suddenly stumbled, his body seeming to tense as used a hand to lean against the tall bookshelves that covered the walls. 

“My Lord?” Doronor was by his King’s side in less than a second, grabbing him by his free arm while his worried, suddenly alert, dark blue eyes searched for Thranduil’s face. She felt her heart skip a beat, her feet suddenly rooted in the spot. Thranduil’s head was bowed low, his right hand still gripping to the bookshelf for support. He was breathing heavily, his eyes suddenly shut tight. 

“My Lord?” She could hear the rising anxiety in Doronor’s voice as he tried to get Thranduil’s attention, but the later remained unmoving, eyes shut tightly in an expression of sudden pain as his breathing seemed to quicken. She did not know what to do, fear suddenly starting to build inside of her as Doronor kept trying to get any kind of response from his King. This was all too familiar for her, like a long repressed nightmare that had come back to haunt her. She did not want it to happen again, her eyes anticipating in fear the moment in which he would collapse. 

“Thranduil?” Doronor’s frantic voice asked again and this time she could hear the fain thread of fear in the usually calmed sound. And then, as suddenly as the pained expression had crossed Thranduil’s face it left. Slowly, the King’s head turned in his advisor’s direction, ice blue eyes blinking dazedly for a moment before falling closed again. His right hand still gripped the bookshelf as a lifeline, his head still hanging low as he seemed to be trying to catch his breath, but nonetheless she felt a slight relief wash over her at the notion that whatever it was that had suddenly taken over him had stopped. This time it had not seemed to be nearly as bad as the last time she had witnessed such a happening. It was over. That’s what her mind kept telling her over and over again. It was over. 

“Come sit down, my Lord.” She watched paralyzed as Doronor slowly led Thranduil to the large couch, gently pushing him down onto the cushions. The Elvenking’s eyes remained closed, and she could see his body shaking slightly, suddenly looking pale. Whatever it was had suddenly attacked him had only lasted a couple of seconds, and yet the King looked absolutely drained. 

Finally, she found her will to move, as if suddenly awakening from a daze. She rushed to the couch, ready to be of help in any way she could. Doronor was kneeling in front of his King , watching attentively as the latter attempted to slowly catch his breath. The simple act of sitting had seemed to do loads for the weakened Elvenking, who seemed to be regaining some of his color. 

“Get him some water.” Doronor suddenly asked her, and she did not need to be told twice before she was moving across the room to where a fine silver pitcher was kept. She could hear the advisor calling a name she did not quite understand, and a second later the door of the study was pushed open, but she did not turn to look, already walking back to where Thranduil sat with a crystal glass full of fresh water. 

“Fetch Master Melnor.” She saw Doronor quickly tell the guard who had just ran into the room, but she did not turn to look as she heard the elf once again leaving the piece in search of the head healer. 

“Here.” She said, handing the glass of water into the bold advisor’s waiting hands. She watched as Doronor gently took the glass to the King’s lips, but Thranduil pushed it away with a shaking hand. The advisor did not insist, placing the still full glass on a small rounded table next to the couch before turning his attention back to his King. 

And then everything happened so fast her mind barely had time to register it. Without warning, Thranduil suddenly jerked forward, his face once again contorting into an expression of agonized pain, eyes shut tightly as he tossed his head around, as if desperately trying to get away from whatever it was that was causing the pain. Her heart stopped inside her chest, a new, more powerful wave of fear suddenly consuming her entire self, a silent cry dying in her throat as her hand involuntarily flew to her mouth. 

“Thranduil!” She heard Doronor exclaim, no longer caring for formalities as his hands quickly flew to grab at his King’s arms, preventing him from falling forward and onto the carpeted floor. 

The Elvenking had not seemed to hear his advisor, his body suddenly shaking violently, still tossing and turning his head. His breathing was too quick….far too quick. She did not know what to do, once again feeling as if she was inside a nightmare, the worst nightmare she had ever had. She felt the same way she had felt the first time she had seen this sort of attack take over Thranduil. She had tried in vain to forget that frightening memory, to pretend it never happened, and yet here it was again. 

She noticed that Doronor had lowered the King so that he was lying down on the couch, the latter still shaking violently, eyes tightly shut in searing pain. She could hear Doronor’s frantic voice calling Thranduil’s name, his hand pressed to the King’s cheek, but he did not gain any kind of response from the trashing elf. Everything seemed suddenly distant to her, every sound, every image, as if her mind had shut itself into a distant box, trying to hide from the terrifying scene unfolding before her very eyes. 

The door of the study was suddenly thrown open and she distantly noticed the dark haired healer rushing into the room, not even turning to look at her before dropping to his knees next to the blond advisor. 

“How long ago did it start?” She could hear Melnor asking frantically, the edge of fear in the healer’s voice doing nothing to calm her down. The healer’s eyes darted over the shaking King, seeming to be trying to figure out a way to make whatever it was that was happening to Thranduil stop. 

“Not too long ago.” Came Doronor’s immediate reply. “Only about a couple minutes. This is the second one, though.” 

“Second?” The healer’s voice exclaimed, eyes suddenly betraying a new worry and fear that made her heart race inside her chest. 

“Yes. The first one was quick, but he was already weakened.” Doronor explained while the healer quickly continued his failed attempts to call the King back. 

The torturing minutes seemed to stretch endlessly, neither Doronor nor Melnor able to stop Thranduil from tossing and turning his head, the pained expression never leaving his handsome face. Bead of sweat had started to accumulate on his now oeverly pale forehead, his breathing seemed to become more and more labored. Alarm seemed to grow in the healer and advisor’s eyes with every passing second. Thranduil was growing weaker, even she could see it. He was still tossing and turning, but less strongly now his shaking only seeming to be intensifying. 

Panic started to consume her as she watched, unable to do anything. Why was it not stopping? It should have stopped by now. It should have stopped. By the Valar, please, let it stop now! 

And then, the next seconds would be forever engraved in her mind. She did not know if it was utter fear or relief what petrified her as Thranduil suddenly stopped tossing, his body lying limply on the couch. For a second, nobody moved, a tensed silence stretching on the now cold air. 

Melnor was the first one to move, one of his hands quickly travelling to his King’s ashen cheek while his other palm pressed lightly over his sweaty forehead. 

“He is unconscious.” The healer informed after a short second and she felt a sick feeling settling in her stomach at the news. The healer’s hands had already moved to his King’s wrist, feeling his pulse. 

Thranduil looked overly pale, almost a sickly grey. His ice blue eyes that she so adored remained closed, beads of sweat shinning upon his brow. He looked absolutely drained, his breathing still labored and uneven. Valar, what had happened? What was this thing that kept taking over Thranduil? 

“His pulse is too quick.” She heard the healer muttering to himself with a slight shake of his head, a new worry visible in his eyes and she once again understood that there was little the healer could actually do in this situation. He knew how to treat wounds, and Thranduil presented none. 

“He is ice cold.” Doronor suddenly breathed out in alarm as one of his hands fell over the King’s pale cheek. 

“We have to move him to his chambers. We need to get him warmed up and comfortable as soon as possible.” Came Melnor’s orders and she saw Doronor quickly nodding in understanding. Oh, Valar, she was eternally grateful that the advisor had been present at the moment. She had no idea what she would have done had she been alone with Thranduil when all of this happened. 

“Will you carry him or should I order a stretcher?” She could hear the healer asking as he continued to hover over the King’s unmoving form. 

“I will carry him.” Came Doronor’s quick answer and she saw the healer suddenly rising to his feet to allow the blond advisor to easily lift his King’s limp form into his arms before quickly heading to the door, Melnor leading the way. 

She followed them closely behind, her body suddenly seeming to awake from its frozen form. She had not been told to follow, but then again neither the advisor nor the healer told her otherwise, simply letting her rush through the hallways along with them, as if they knew she would not easily leave the Elvenking’s side. 

The intricate corridors that led to the King’s chambers had once again been cleared. Not a single elf crossed their way until they found themselves face to face with the large carved wooden doors that led directly to the King’s chambers, the guards at its sides immediately opening them wide for them to pass. 

Once again, she found the King’s large chambers already filled with expectant servants and healers, all of them setting into work the second they entered through the large pairs of doors. She simply watched in silence as the King was rushed to the overly large bed in the center of the room, two healers she did not recognized carefully helping Doronor lower Thranduil on his back onto the soft mattress, removing his heavy outer robes before another pair of healers pulled the fine silken sheets and wine red covers up to the King’s chin, covering him with extra blankets. 

She could hear Melnor giving out instructions to the other healers but she was no longer paying attention to him. She could not help but notice the absolute gentleness and care, and almost reverence with which the Elvenking was handled. She wanted to rush to his side, to caress his soft face with her fingers, but she did not move. It took nearly all of her willpower to remain standing where she was, allowing the healers to do their job. She had not even noticed that a couple of servants had already lighted the fireplace, the red flames quickly filling the space with their soothing warmth. 

A soft moan made her eyes suddenly fly back in the direction of the bed. Thranduil was beginning to stir. She could see a deep crease of pain appearing on his brow, tremors running through his body. In a fragment of a second, Doronor and Melnor were by his side, but still she did not move. Valar, why was it so hard for her to move! 

“My Lord? Can you hear me?” The healer’s voice had lowered into a barely audible whisper. Silence had entirely settled inside the large room, as if every elf in the piece feared that the slightest of sounds would further disturb their already distressed King. Thranduil’s ice blue eyes fluttered open, only to fall closed shut a second after, the crease of pain in his brow only intensifying. 

“Close the curtains.” Came Melnor’s quick command, as his expert hand flew once more to his King’s wrist. A flash of movement followed, all the rich wine red curtains suddenly pulled closed against the afternoon’s golden sunlight, enveloping the room in a soothing darkness, the only light now the one casted by the welcoming dancing flames in the fireplace. 

Another moan escaped Thranduil’s lips, but he did not attempt to open his eyes again, a greenish color suddenly appearing on his overly pale face. He attempted to move and thankfully the healer seemed to immediately understand what was happening for he quickly helped turn the King on his side just in time as the latter retched violently. 

She did not know what to do. She once again felt paralyzed, horrify. Valar, what was wrong with her! She had silently hoped that she would be of more help should she ever witness this kind of attacks that seemed to fall over Thranduil. And yet, here she was, as useless, shocked and petrified as the first time. She had thought that it would be easier a second time, that she would already know what to expect, but that was not the case. 

She noticed something wet sliding down her cheeks as she absently watched Melnor and another healer carefully helping the King back down onto the soft pillows, Thranduil still trembling visibly as yet another healer gently placed a cool wet cloth over his forehead and eyes. 

She felt gentle fingers suddenly curling around her thin arm, and she turned in time to find Doronor pulling her to a dark corner of the room, away from the bed. The advisor did not say anything, not giving her time to speak before he was already gently wiping away the traces of tears from her cheeks with his thumb, a stern yet sympathetic look on his silent dark blue eyes. 

“Can you handle to stay or do you need to go?” The advisor’s voice was a stern as his eyes, the sound so low she was sure she was the only elf in the room who had heard him. She could not hold back a wince as she heard Thranduil being sick for a second time. More tears slid down her face and only then did she realize she was also shaking. 

“It is all right if you go.” Doronor added, his careful thumb once again wiping away the new tears from her cheeks. “But you need to compose yourself if you are going to stay. You need to help him, not to cause him any more distress. And I can assure you that watching you cry will not help him.” 

She nodded her head quickly, trying to take some calming breaths in order to stop her tears from falling. Doronor’s voice was sharp, and yet his stern eyes were somewhat soft, somewhat apologetic. She knew he was speaking the truth, and she focused all of her concentration on trying to calm her panicking body. 

“I know.” She said in between calming breaths, using her hands to dry her cheeks. “I am sorry.” 

“You do not need to be sorry.” The advisor’s voice was gentler now, dark blue eyes suddenly softer, the stern sharp barrier that had covered them a second ago suddenly melted away. “We are all scared and worried.” 

She nodded her head again, turning her eyes in the direction of the bed once more. Thranduil was once again lying back on the pillows, the cool wet cloth covering his closed eyes. She could see Melnor trying to coax his King into drinking from a steaming cup but Thranduil was not cooperating, only taking small sips as he attempted to push the drink away. She did not blame him. She was sure that if she were feeling nearly as terrible as he probably was feeling at that moment, she would not want to drink anything either. 

“Are they going to put him to sleep?” She asked, finally managing to slowly calm herlself. 

“Yes.” Came Doronor’s soft reply. “Rest is the only thing that will help him.” 

“Alarya?” 

Her head snapped in the direction of the bed once more. And then, that was all she needed to calm herself. The simple sound of her name, so frail and weak as it escaped Thranduil’s mouth, suddenly filled her with a strength she could not understand. He was asking for her. He needed her. It was as if her body that had been about to crumble down was suddenly strong again, and she found herself immediately responding to his call, her feet rushing to his side before she could even command them to move. 

“I am here.” She whispered as she reached his side, one of her hands gently caressing his cheek. 

He had not moved, still lying completely still against the overly soft pillows, the cool piece of cloth covering his eyes from her view. She did not even notice Melnor stepping aside for her to be sit at the edge of the bed, the now empty cup still in the healer’s hands. She was barely aware of the healers and servants quietly exiting the room, their presence no longer needed as they allowed their King to rest quietly. 

“Arya?” Thranduil asked again. He seemed confused, not really aware of what was happening around him. 

“I am still here.” She repeated, letting her hands softly travel through his long blond hair. “I am here.”

“We will let him rest, my Lady. There is nothing else we can do for the moment.” She heard Melnor addressing her softly and she nodded her head without turning her eyes from the unmoving Elvenking. 

“There will be guards outside the door, and a healer ready should anything happen.” She nodded again, not turning to look as she heard the healer quietly exiting the room. 

“What about the men that are being brought to the Palace, my Lord?” She could hear one of the few guards left inside the room asking Doronor quietly. “What should we do about them?” 

She could not help but feel a wave of rage travel through her body at those words. She could not have cared less about the men being brought to the Palace. Did they really think Thranduil cared about the men at this moment? Do anything with them! Lock them in the dungeons! Feed them to the spiders! Make them work in the kitchens! Anything! Make them wait until Thranduil was feeling better and was able to deal with them! The last thing she wanted to do was to hear Thranduil’s duties as a King being brought up at this time while he was in his private chambers currently unable to even speak! She did not know what drove her to speak, but when she did her voice sounded steady, not a hint of doubt hearable in it. 

“Give them rooms and food, but keep them under close watch until my King decides what to do with them.” 

She saw the guard shifting uncomfortably, his eyes looking at Doronor for confirmation, and even she was surprised when the advisor’s eyes turned to look at the guard expectantly before he spoke. “There are your orders. What are you waiting for?” 

The guard nodded rapidly, bowing his head slightly as he understood his dismissal. She only caught sight of Doronor walking towards the large pairs of doors, waiting as the remaining guards and servants exiting the room before following them, silently closing the door behind him, leaving her alone with the King. 

She did not move from her spot, quietly sitting at the edge of the large bed while her hand gently continued to travel down his long blond hair, ever so softly, trying almost in vain to provide if even the slightest relief to the splitting migraine she knew he was suffering. Thranduil would be asleep soon, she could see it. The draught would not take long to make an effect. 

“Arya?” Thranduil asked again, his voice sounding overly tired as her nickname floated out of his lips, the simple sound of that shortened name still causing shivers to run through her body as her heart fluttered inside her chest. 

“I am still here.” She repeated again. She would not get tired of answering the same thing over and over again, even if she had to do it a thousand times. “Go to sleep. I will be here.” 

And then, so gently and so unexpectedly she felt him. There, reaching for her in a way he had never reached for her before, in a way that had not been possible before. She knew what it was immediately, and felt her heart swell at the recognition. It was their bond. A bond that she could now identify inside of her, that she could now feel linking her to him, allowing him to reach for her in his time of need, suddenly stronger than it was before. 

She let her free hand lightly caress his cheek and saw the faintest of smiles draw on his lips as he weakly leaned into her touch, her other hand still gently stroking his long silvery hair. 

“You know this does not count.” His voice was barely audible as he spoke, almost only moving his lips. He sounded exhausted. “You still owe me.” 

She could not contain a light laugh from escaping her lips at his words. Trust it to the Elvenking to point out that her stroking his hair right now did not mean she was fulfilling her part of the deal. As gently as she could, she placed a kiss on his pale cheek, still unable to hide her smile, even he could not see it behind his tiredly closed eyes. 

“We will see.” She whispered in return, watching as the weakest of chuckles escaped his lips, but he did not say anything else, fatigue and pain once again lining the handsome features of his face. One of his hands broke free from the blankets, and she immediately went to grasp it with her own. It was too cold for her liking, but nothing alarming. That seemed to calm him somehow, for did not move anymore, simply lying there completely still, his fingers weakly curled around hers. 

She did not know for how long she sat there. Minutes stretched into hours, the golden afternoon light turning red only to extinguish some hours later as night fell over the forest outside. And yet she did not move. She had not even noticed the exact moment in which Thranduil had succumbed to his exhaustion, now sleeping peacefully on the bed, but her hand still continued its gentle journey down his long fine hair. The fire continued to chirp in the ample fireplace, its flames dancing soothingly to a muted lullaby she could not hear. 

Eventually, the first rays of morning light started to creep through the rich closed curtains, the night finally turning to day, the sun rising higher and higher in the sky as the hours flew by. Every now and then a healer would silently walk into the room to check on the still sleeping King, and yet she did not move. Even Doronor had come at some point during the day to try to persuade her of freshening up and having a meal, saying that Thranduil would be all right if she left for a little while, but she simply refused. She did not know why, but the sole memory of his weak voice calling her name the day before made her scared to leave. What if he woke up again calling for her and she was not there? More so, she was here now, but then who had been here all those times before she had met him? Had it been a healer? A guard? Had he been alone? Thranduil stirred a couple of times during the day, but never fully awoke. 

And thus night fell again, and she lost track of the hours. It was not until well past midnight that she heard Thranduil stirring again, his gorgeous ice blue eyes slowly fluttering open, studying confusedly the space around him. 

“How are you feeling?” She heard herself asking almost immediately and his eyes turned in her direction, somewhat dazed at first until recognition finally sparkled in his vast blue eyes. 

“Arya?” His voice was still weak, but not nearly as weak as it had been the night before. “You are still here?” 

“Yes.” She said quietly, gently placing a strand of his long blond hair behind his ear. “How is your headache?” 

She could feel his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand, and only now realized that she had never let go of his hand. He closed his eyes for a second, swallowing before he spoke. “Better.” 

“Has it gone away?” She asked, a small smile appearing on her lips for the first time that day. He looked considerably better, not nearly as pale as he had the night before, even though overall he still looked absolutely drained. And yet, the fact that he was awake and talking felt like the greatest relief she had had for many long hours. 

“No.” He admitted after a while. “But it will.” 

She let out a light chuckle, leaning in to press a light kiss upon his forehead before speaking again. “Are you hungry? A maid brought some food not too long ago.” 

“No.” Was his answer, his eyes still closed, and yet a small smile adorned his face. “What time is it?” 

“It is already past midnight.” She informed, letting her hand once again caress the soft skin at his forehead before sliding down his hair. She wanted to ask him what it was that happened to him the night before. She had heard Doronor using a migraine as the excuse for the King’s absence to the guards and other elves inside the Palace, but she knew that had not been the case. True, he had had a migraine afterwards- and probably still did- but she knew that it had been something far different what had attacked Thranduil the day before. Migraines did not come as suddenly and unexpectedly as this thing did. And yet, she did not ask. Not now. She would ask him later. 

“Rest some more, Thranduil.” She finally said, her voice a soothing whisper. “You will feel better tomorrow. Besides if anything were to happen, I can always sign instead of you and no one will ever notice.” 

That caused a light laugh to escape his lips, the frail sound making her hear soar in delight. 

“That is what worries me the most.” He added. She could feel him already starting to drift off to sleep again. He was tired. A long silence settled on the room as she simply watched over him, waiting for the moment in which he would once again fall into a peaceful sleep. 

“Arya?” He broke the silence, his ice blue eyes, those that could be so cold and hard and at the same time so gentle and kind, were looking back at hers, clouded with sleep. 

“Yes?” She whispered in return, her hand still stroking his long blond hair. 

“If you are going to stay here, at least lie properly on the bed.” He requested, his slender fingers curling over hers tenderly. “It is late and I can see you are tired. You have not slept. Do not offend me by letting me know that I am comfortably sleeping while you sit there the entire night.” 

She laughed lightly at his words, placing another kiss on his cheek. She was tired, even though she hated to admit it. She had not slept at all the night before, and now she would sleep only short hours of this night. Even though she would like to say that she was all right, that he need not worry, she had to admit that the bed looked overly appealing at the moment, the pillows suddenly looking softer than ever, the fine silk wine colored covers warmer than any she had ever seen. 

“Are you sure?” She found herself asking, not waiting for an answer as she was already rising to her feet and rounding the bed. She hear Thranduil laughing ever so lightly at her as his ice blue eyes watched her carefully. 

Before he could say anything she was already carefully climbing onto the bed, Thranduil’s hand having already pulled the covers aside for her to get inside them. Oh, Valar, she was so tired. The moment she was lying down on that overly soft mattress she felt as if she would never be able to get up. The feathered pillow beneath her head was softer than any she had ever touched, the fine silk sheets and feathered covers enveloping her body with the most soothing touch. 

She lay on her side, facing Thranduil, the latter still lying on his back. He had not moved, except for his head which was now looking in her direction, eyes once again closed tiredly. It felt strange to lie on this bed, knowing that it as no other than her Kign’s bed, and at the same time it felt so easy and right to simply lie next to him, their bodies not even touching, the bed large enough to fit three comfortable sleeping elves. 

“I must say that my King’s bed is a place I never imagined myself to be in.” She whispered teasingly, watching as his eyes fluttered open for a second, a smile illuminating his face. A round of shivers ran down her spine as she felt his gently suddenly on her face, carefully brushing a strand of her long golden hair behind her pointed ear. 

“And I can assure you that whenever I imagined having a Lady in my bed it was never under these circumstances.” 

That made her laugh, her eyes sparkling lovingly as she saw his own eyes falling closed once more, once again succumbing to his exhaustion. He would be better in the morning. She knew it. He was already better. It did not take long until she too was drifting off into a peaceful sleep, her tiredness from the past days finally catching up with her, the soft silken pillows the most comfortable ones she had ever laid her head on. 

She was barely aware of the sun rising in the horizon some hours later. Even less aware of Thranduil silently rising from the bed with the coming morning. She would not even remember herself waking slightly as he moved, sleepy green eyes meeting his ice blue ones briefly as he whispered “You can stay there. Keep sleeping.” She did not even notice as her hands pulled the covers closer to her body, once again drifting off into her dreams, the entire bed now to herself. Nor did she notice Doronor walk into the room at a late hour in the morning to deliver some important documents, his dark blue eyes finding her there, still peacefully asleep in one half of the bed, the King already up and about the Palace, once again in charge of his duties. She never saw the silent smirk that crossed the elegant advisor’s expression as he quietly exited the room, intent in not waking, nor did she ever know that at that moment the advisor understood that the side of the bed she was currently occupying would never be empty again…


	11. Words

Thranduil lay comfortably on the long chaise, the golden and red autumn gardens singing in harmony to the cool breeze all around the small gazebo. Alarya’s head rested on his chest, her small body pressed against his as his arms remained loosely tied around her slim waist, his rich formal robes blanketing over her delicate figure. 

She was angry with him, although only the Valar knew what he had done to deserve her anger. He had tried all day to figure out what he could have possibly done, and still had found no answer to that question. And to his further frustration, she was not explicitly shouting at him or pushing him away. No. That would only be so unlike Alarya. No, she had to communicate her anger through a cold mask of silent indifference, as if he should know what was causing her anger. 

They lay in silence. They had done so for some long minutes now after he had ran out of topics to initiate a conversation- her comments only being a single word sentence in her perfectly calmed sweet voice, betraying no emotion whatsoever. He only guessed that whatever it was he had done – he had reached the conclusion that it must have been him the one her anger was directed to- could not have been as grave for she remained comfortably snuggled against him. No, indeed, more than angered she seemed to be resentful. But what had he done? 

Trying to think of something else to say –something to which her answer would require more than one word- he let his eyes wonder about the small gazebo around them. It was the same gazebo in which he had first kissed her. Only remembering that incident made him feel like sending out an order to burn this gazebo. Not that he did not like it, no. It was gorgeous, and definitely one of the most peaceful places in all of his vast gardens. Nonetheless, given the current situation, he was starting to believe that this place held some kind of grudge against him and Alarya. 

Of course, she remained silent, her delicate fingers toying absently with his, turning and twisting his various rings. He felt the gentle touch of her fingers stopping particularly at one specific ring on his right hand’s index finger, starting to curiously pull it out before suddenly stopping, as if remembering that it was not hers to remove. Without a word – was that not exactly how the entire afternoon had gone? – he removed the ring with his own hands, placing it silently on her palm for her to examine. He knew that ring very well already, it was the King’s ring, the one his father had passed down to him many years ago. 

More long minutes passed, Alarya simply eying the ring semi-interested, placing it back on his finger once she got tired. Still not a word. He sighed against the top of her beautiful golden head, feeling her shift slightly to be more comfortable in his arms. 

“Did you finish reading that book you were so intently reading?” He asked breaking the still silence, his voice soft, as if silently inviting her to talk to him. He was running out of questions he could possibly ask. 

“Yesterday.” There it was again, the one word answer. Her voice remained as flat and quiet as before…as disinterested. He felt like yelling at someone, ad at the same time kissing her and begging for forgiveness for whatever it was he had done. Had he offended her in some way? 

“Did you enjoy it?” He tried again, ignoring the shortness of her voice, coaxing her to say something other than the obvious. 

“Yes.” 

And he had failed…again. He closed his eyes in silent exasperation. Why could she not simply tell him that something was bothering her? was he supposed to guess. Not that he had not tried asking. Oh, he had tried. He had more than once asked if there was something wrong only to receive a short, flat, no. 

She shifted again, turning to lie on her side, her right hand travelling to rest on his chest by her head. He rearranged his hold on her, his hand now absently tracing soothing patterns on her back. No, she was definitely not angry, he was sure now. She was resentful. 

“Are you going to have dinner with me tonight?” He asked again, not settled on allowing the silence to claim them so easily once more. 

“Have I not always?” 

Oh, this time the answer was different. Valar, he felt like strangling someone. A question. Really? What was he supposed to answer now without sounding like an idiot. Yes? No? It was one of those cold questions that had no answer. Unable to contain himself any longer he pushed himself up on his elbows, Alarya rising to a sitting position at his movement. 

“Arya, will you tell me what have I done?” He asked. His voice remained soft, completely honest, seeming to be almost pleading for an answer. Much to his surprise she seemed to be surprised by his question, as if she had not expected it all. But wasn’t that what she wanted? Did she not want him to simply beg for her forgiveness for whatever it was had been his offense? Elbereth, this was so complicated! 

“What?” was her only response, this time not cold or short but a single whisper entirely betraying her confusion and surprise. Had she not very clearly trying to state that she was angry with him? She had been irritated all day long, and as the day went by he had confirmed that her irritation had something to do with him. 

“I have clearly done something that bothered you, but I cannot seem to figure out what. Will you please tell me so that I can properly apologize?” 

Her eyes drifted to the floor, her expression unreadable for some silent moments. When her large forest green eyes lifted back up to meet his they seemed saddened, almost apologetic, but her expression not seeming any less indifferent and annoyed than it had all day long. 

“You have done nothing wrong.” She reassured him. Her voice was honest, entirely open and clear, and yet it lacked the reassurance in it, seeming to be almost flat again. Without another word, Alarya lay back down on the chaise, and he imitated her so that she could accommodate herself once again with her head on his chest. All right, now he was worried. 

“Arya.” He pleaded again, his voice nothing more than a whisper as his hand reassumed its task of tracing patterns on her small back. She did not turn to look at him, deliberately ignoring he had spoken at all. 

He let out an irritated sigh, his worry quickly turning into annoyance. This however, proved to be the most stupid thing he could have thought of doing. In a second she was once again sitting up, brushing his hand away from her as her green eyes glared at him fiercely. 

“Now you are angry with me?” She asked. Oh, that tone. He knew that tone. It was the tone that seemed to test him, daring him to answer her question only to let all of Mordor fall over him. This time he could not hide his utter confusion from showing on his face. 

“What?” Was all he could think of saying at the moment. “Arya, I am not angry with you. Will you tell what is bothering you?” If so, she only looked more irritated than before. 

“I told you there nothing wrong. Drop it.” Not even a blind stupid troll would believe her voice. Why, Valar, why could she not simply tell him what on Arda had he possibly done. Patience, Elbereth, patience. 

“Do not tell me there is nothing wrong.” He said again, his ice blue eyes fixed on her large green ones, none of them looking away. She opened her mouth as if to speak, only to close it again, shaking her head slightly before starting to lay back down again. 

“No, Alarya.” He stopped her before she could once again accommodate herself against him, he too rising up to sit, both of his hands gently on her arms. “Talk to me. You are worrying me.” 

Again, those were apparently the wrong words to say. Her previously irritated green eyes suddenly darted to meet his, burning through his ice blue eyes with a new seething anger  
“Oh, so you are worried now.” She smiled as she spoke, such a threatening smile. He could hear the open sarcasm in her voice as her eyes continued to glare at him. So he had touched on whatever it was that was causing her anger, although he still could not fully understand. 

“Of course I am.” He answered, letting his eyes look directly on hers, not letting her look away, his voice still calmed. “Something is bothering you and I do not know what.” 

Again, wrong choice of words. Valar, he needed to remind himself to ask Lord Lasgaer for an instruction booklet on what to answer or say to her in these situations. Clearly he could not find the correct thing to say. 

“Oh, forgive me, Your Majesty. I seemed to have forgotten that you are the only elf who requires an explanation for everything. Never mind the rest of us.” She rose to her feet as she spoke, her eyes still glaring daggers at him. His irritation merged with frustration as he tried very hard to not loose his patience. 

“Alary, what are you talking about?” He rose to his feet again, gently placing his hands on her arms, looking into her eyes firmly. “What have I done?” 

“I told you have done nothing. Stop worrying about that.” There it was. The flat voice again. This time he did not let the subject drop so easily. 

“It most certainly does not look like ‘nothing’ to me.” He pressed, his voice gentle, but firm. “What is happening?” 

“That is precisely what I want to know, Thranduil. What is happening?” Her green eyes stared deeply at his. “What is happening? You know, after the first time I decided to ignore it, but this…this…thing…has happened to you twice now, twice, and I…I have no idea what is happening, and you do not tell me, nobody tells me, and I find myself just waiting for you to drop to the floor again….I…” 

She drifted off, her words stammered. So her mood tied back to the attack he had suffered a couple of days ago. That was what was bothering her. A wave of relief washed over him as he heard what it was that was bothering her so much and he could not help let out a relieved chuckle, smiling now. Valar, he had been so worried thinking that something was happening to her. 

This, however, was once again the wrong thing to do for her eyes once again darting to pierce his fiercely, seeming to find no joke whatsoever on her words. Valar, why had he not explained things to her earlier? He had simply forgotten, assuming –erroneously of course – that she already knew. 

“Arya.” He whispered again, his voice gentler now, no longer irritated or worried as his hand carefully brushed a strand of her golden hair behind her pointed ear. “Why did you not just ask me?” 

Her eyes dropped to the ground, the anger suddenly vanishing from her face. When she spoke her voice was low, calmed, no longer that flat indifferent voice. 

“I do not know. I…how was I going to ask you anything then?” Her large green eyes lifted to meet his, so open, so reachable. “You did not see yourself, Thranduil.” 

He closed her eyes as he let out a silent sigh. Why had this had to happen with her in the room? He knew it most certainly not have been a pretty sight, and wished more that anything that she had not been there to witness it. The last thing he wanted was to worry her or scare her…two things that he seemed to have managed to do already. 

He sat back on the chaise, and this time she walked closer to him, choosing to sit on his lap rather than on the empty space beside him. 

“I am sorry.” He said as his arms wrapped around her small body, her own arms tied over his neck. “I do not know why I though you already knew. You know, if you had asked me I would have told you.” He said gently, brushing yet another strand of her golden hair from her face. 

Her large green eyes turned back to his, almost apologetic, a faint smile growing on her lips, no longer sarcastic or cold. “I…did not know if you would want to talk about it.” She said, her voice low, as if almost ashamed of admitting that. “I did not know how to bring that up.” 

He let out another silent chuckle before placing a soft kiss on her cheek. “You know you can ask me anything.” 

“I know.” She said, showing him another small smile. 

“What is it that you want to know?” He asked her, her emerald eyes looking into his for a moment before she spoke. 

“What happened to you?” 

How to answer that question? He remembered this attack vividly. It had probably been the strongest one in long years. He did not have a lot of coherent memories of the time after it happened, only that he had felt the worst he had felt probably in his entire life. He did remember Alarya, though vaguely. He remembered her voice, but could not recall what she had been saying. He had not been able to notice anything else apart from the slipping pain inside his head. 

“I guess there is not really a term to name what you saw happening to me a couple of days ago. I would call it an attack. It is not really easy to explain. Where to start? You do know that I wield old magic, do you not?” 

“Yes.” She answered. “Everybody knows that.” 

He nodded his head before continuing. 

“Well, I would not precisely call it magic, but there is not a term for it really. It is more a kind of perception…a sensitivity….to other powerful forces, either from nature or not. Why are you laughing? Stop laughing, Arya, I am trying to explain.” 

Her sweet giggles filled the gazebo, floating easily in the air, as if the wind longed to carry that sound with it wherever it went. 

“I am sorry.” She said, trying to stop her sweet laughter. “Continue… it is just, when you put it that way…oh, my sensitive King.” She laughed, mockingly caressing his cheek. 

“All right, conversation is over.” He narrowed his eyes at her who immediately stopped laughing. 

“No, no, no, I will remain quiet, I promise. Please tell me. Continue.” 

He eyed her carefully, watching her forest green eyes looking at him with anticipation before he reassumed his explanation. 

“Very well. I was saying, I can perceive other forces, whether from nature of not. I can sense their energy and they can sense mine. I can reach to them, call upon them to create a connection that allows me to sometimes manipulate them, at the expense of my own energy. It requires immense concentration and control of every single move. Once this connection is created, whatever it is the force I’m focusing on and my own spirit create a bond, and that is what allows me to channel my powers through that force. It is what allows me to protect the borders, to keep the darkness at bay. The longer this connection lasts, the deeper it penetrates, and if I were to loose control or let myself slip, I can allow that connection, that bond, to stop being in balance and the other force can absorb more energy than I have to give, pulling me until I cannot pull back out.”

Her emerald eyes were looking at him attentively, her expressions serious, absorbing every single word he had said. He hated to have to explain all of this things, to her he would explain a thousand times if it was necessary. 

“Can that….” She stopped, as if trying to find courage to voice her question. “Can that…kill you?” 

That question. The only question he wished she would not have asked. He could not lie to he, no matter how much he wanted to. And yet, he did not want to tell her the truth either. 

“Yes.” He admitted. “But that would be a very extreme case in which I am not careful enough or in which a third person interrupts the connection abruptly.” He added, trying in vain to sound somehow reassuring. 

She remained silent for a moment, her green gaze dropping to the floor. 

“How is that related to what happened to you the other day…the attack, you said.” She asked, her emerald eyes lifting to meet his once more. 

“That is where I was headed. In the same way in which I can perceive those other forces, those other presences, they can perceive me. Sometimes a very powerful presence can accidentally reach me, or sense me, pulling into my mind. Such a happening can also be on purpose, as one force tried to penetrate my defenses and into my mind. Sometimes I am able to tell who this force is, others it seems impossible. At times I can feel before hand the presence tugging into my mind and I can block it, at others, it is either too strong for me to pull away, or it catches me off guard. An attack like the case is what you witnessed.” 

She was silent again, and he waited patiently. 

“Does that happen often?” 

“There is no way to know.” He answered. “If your question is if it usually happens this often, then no. Three unwarned attacks this close together is very rare.” 

He did not go into detail, there was no point in scaring her. Three attacks as strong as the ones he had suffered recently was most rare and worrying. Most of all, they had all been form the same force, the same presence. He remembered it vividly, the blinding pain in his head, the voice wracking his skull in the black tongue trying to penetrate all of his defenses, trying to weaken him, to make the protection around his realm fall. For the third time, the force had failed in its attempt, but he was starting to worry that if it kept trying, if the attack grew stronger, he would not be able to stand it and his barriers would break. He knew exactly from where this attacking presence had come, such information had not revealed itself until the latest attack, that it was that what worried him the most. It came from Dol Guldur. The old fortress was no longer empty. 

Alarya had remained silent, simply seeming to be absorbing all of his words, looking thoughtful. 

“Who knows about this?” She asked, her voice merely a whisper. He simply smiled at her, placing a soft kiss upon her cheek before answering. 

“Very few elves. Doronor and Cunir, Melnor because he must, and I would say only the group of healers and servants you saw at my chambers. It is always the same group of elves for they know what to do. I would say that only Doronor, Cunir and Melnor- and you now- really know what is happening, the others have an idea but do not get details on it. 

She simply nodded her head before leaning back against his chest, his arms instinctively wrapping around her body to hold her closer. She seemed thoughtful, but no longer angered. No. She was peaceful, not particularly liking the information she had received, but nonetheless he could tell that knowing was all she had desired. He could feel her calmness through their bond, mixed with a hint of worry that he absolutely wanted to make disappear. 

“Arya.” He said, his voice low, barely audible. She lifted her head to be able to gaze into his eyes, forest green irises so open and deep, like endless pools of swirling melted emeralds. “Thank you for being there…for staying.” 

His voice betrayed his honesty, barely even audible. He had not yet thanked her for staying with him for both occasions. Mostly, it was because he really did not know how to thank her. Such a thing did not come easy to him. The others usually stayed because they had to. He was their King. But once again, this small gesture of hers had come as something that felt oddly new to him, such a small thing that he did not know he had never known all of his life. It was like her pinecones, like her hand simply stroking his hair. He wished he could somehow let her know how much had her sole presence there comforted him. It was a strange sensation, one he had not felt for many long years. She was no healer, and yet presence had provided the exact kind of comfort and ease that he had needed. All he had wanted had been her company. 

She offered him one of her dazzling smiles before kissing him fully on the lips. “Anytime.” She said, her voice coming out so easily. “Besides, I myself had never slept more comfortably than that night.” 

It was his turn to laugh, remembering her delicate figure simply rolling to snuggle deeper into the covers as morning came, not wanting to wake up just yet. Valar, how much he loved her, and she had no idea. He lay back down on the chaise, Alarya coming to lie almost on top of him, propped up on her arms over his chest. 

“You did not answer my previous question.” He said. “Would you have dinner with me tonight?” 

Her sweet laughter floated in the air, the expression on her face looking as if her answer would be obvious. “Yes, of course I will. I do every night, Thran.” 

His smile only grew wider at the shortened name. She rarely addressed him anything other than his full name, and when she did he felt like kissing her to no end. Unfortunately for him –well really this was never unfortunate – she seemed to know precisely what she would obtain with that shortened name, for every time she used it she would leaned closer, waiting for the kiss she knew she had won. And, as every other time, he kissed her. 

“I do not mean if you will sit at my table tonight.” He clarified once they broke apart. “I mean if you would sit by me, on the place that you know is yours.” 

Voice about their relationship had spread throughout the entire realm, but still he had not yet made an official announcement, nor had they made any kind of public appearance together. He knew it was not easy for her, and she had enjoyed the slight relief of still sitting at the long table like all the other high ranking elves and ladies, along with both of her parents, never really claiming the place to his left, which she had known that for a while now had belonged to her. 

A bright smile crossed her face, that smile that could make the sun look pathetic. 

“I would love to.” She said and he could not stop himself from placing another kiss on her sweet lips. 

For the first time, that night, the seat to his left would be occupied by the rightful person, and not merely another of his advisors of members of the court for the sake of not leaving that place empty. And yet, what he could not wait was for that place to officially belong to her for the rest of eternity. 

“I love you.” The words surprised him as they left his lips, as easily as if they had wanted to be said out loud for long days now. He had not yet told her that, and could clearly see that the words had caught her completely off guard in the surprised expression of her face. 

“What.” She breathed out, deep green eyes looking at him perplexed, as if she could not believe his words. 

“I love you.” He repeated. Once again the words came easily. This time, he saw her lips illuminate in a bright smile, emerald eyes sparkling with a look he had never before seen in them, a look that he wished would stay there for forever. 

“I love you too.” She said, and just like that, his heart flipped widely, not able to stop himself as he once again pressed his lips to hers in a deep, passionate kiss. So at last, he had found the correct choice of words. 

He still found it hard to believe that Lasgaer had already given him his daughter’s hand, now all he needed was to propose to her. He already had the ring. Yes. He had had the master jeweler working on that particular ring until it was absolutely perfect. Now all he needed was to somehow figure out the size of her finger to have it adjusted. But how was he going to get a grip of one of Alarya’s rings in order to get the size. A new idea suddenly popped into his head and he turned to face her just as they rose from the chaise, starting to make their way back into the Palace. 

“Alarya, if I were to have a little fun with one of your cousins, which of the three you I choose to pick on?” He asked her. She turned to look at him curiously, laughing lightly at the idea of him picking on one of her cousins. 

“Agoron.” She answered easily, moving closer to him as he wrapped an arm around her back. “Definitely Agoron. And if you were to scare him a little, I would enjoy that very much.” 

So Agoron it was. Yes. That poor elf had no idea what kind of mission he was going to ask of him…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Chapter here for all of you! :) And thank you soo much for your comments!!! ^^


	12. Question

Alarya took one last glance at herself on the full-length mirror, a sheepish smile curving up at the edges of her lips. She looked beautiful, there was not denying it. Her long golden hair had been pulled back in an intricate single braid, falling elegantly down her back, many tiny pearls and sapphires incrusted in her locks of hair, catching the light in thousands of deep blue reflections every time she moved. She wore a dress of pearly white, the fabric so light that it almost seemed to float around her, dancing by her feet every time she moved. A different fabric, one a rich blue, the same shade of the sapphires covering her head, fell in a strip down her back, where the pearl buttons of her dress rested securely, and it stretched as it met the floor, dragging behind her like the waves of the ocean. The dress was stunning, she had to admit it. Thousands of pearls and sapphires where sewn in the fabric, delineating patters and forms her eyes could have never imagined on their own. 

“You look gorgeous, my Lady.” She heard one of her maids say, and her eyes turned from the mirror to the young looking maid standing only a couple of steps behind her. 

“Thank you, Sidhel.” She could not contain a smile as she spoke, and she found the young maid’s own lips curving into a wide smile. 

Alarya’s eyes turned back to the mirror. She had never been one to look at her reflections multiple times, or pay too much attention to it at all, but tonight she could not help but look. Yes, tonight she wanted to look stunning. It was the Winters Solstice’s Celebration that night, and every single elf in the Greenwood would be dressed their finest. Jewels would parade through the King’s halls, gold and silver would be common themes, rich fabrics of every color and shade will glow under the thousands of candles, sparkling and dancing along with the songs and waltzes. 

Only thinking about the celebration made her feel nervous again. She knew by a fact that it had already started, her parents already downstairs inside the large King’s Halls with her cousins and the rest of Mirkwood. She, on the other hand, would be arriving last, escorted by the King himself, where no doubt eyes would follow her every move, scrutinizing every detail of her. Tonight would be hers and Thranduil’s first official public appearance as a couple, and she did not know why but the sole thought of that made butterflies dance inside her stomach. 

Of course, the entire realm was very well aware of their relationship by now, they had been very well aware for months now, but still they had not made an official appearance. She only hoped not to make a fool of herself, but then again, she had already made a fool of herself on last year’s Winters Solstice, when she had accidentally clashed against the King resulting in him ending up with pieces of glass incrusted in the palm of his hand. 

A knock on the opened wooden door made her thoughts fly back to reality, and her eyes dashed in its direction only to find the tall and royal figure of the Elvenking leaning casually against he wooden frame, ice blue eyes fixe on her, sparkling under the light of his gentle smile. She felt her heart flutter at the sight, all of her worries and fears suddenly forgotten as she let herself fall into his endless blue eyes. The crown of Mirkwood rested regally on his head, his light blond hair cascading over his shoulders and down his back. He wore elegant robes of a rich silver, the fabric falling royally to his feet, adorned with hundreds of jewels in patterns of leaves. 

“My Lord.” “Your Majesty.” A chorus of greetings and bows from the maids seemed to made him notice their presence in the room for the first time.

“Ladies.” He greeted, and it resulted impossible for her to contain a smile as he curtly nodded his head in greeting, not seeming to notice the wide grins and overly excited gleam in the maids’ eyes. Then, his ice blue eyes focused on her once more, his smile once again adorning his handsome pale face as he made his way to where she stood. 

“You look stunning.” He whispered, ice blue eyes dancing all over her figure seeming to be wanting to take in every single detail of her looks. She felt her smile growing wider, and she bit her lower lip as she twirled before her eyes, allowing hem a full view of her. 

“Wait, wait.” A pair of gentle hands stopped her by the shoulders just when she had her back to him, preventing her from finishing her twirl. She felt his slender fingers brushing over her long braid, going over the multiple tiny pearls and sapphires that adorned it. “Who braided your hair?” 

Alarya giggled in return, meeting his eyes once more as he gently turned her back around to face him. “Sidhel did.” 

She nodded in the direction of the maid and the elf in question made a little curtsey in acknowledgement, helping the Elvenking who obviously could not tell which of the maids was named Sidhel. Thranduil nodded his head, one of his hands resting lightly o her back as his eyes now focused on the maid in question. 

“And tell me, Sidhel, was it your intention to have every single ellon tonight have his eyes fixed on my Lady?” Thranduil smiled teasingly as he spoke, and yet she could hear the faint thread of actual worry and jealousy in his voice, making her only chuckle in return. Sidhel simply grinned and lowered her eyes, clearly not knowing what to say to her King, but luckily for the maid Thranduil did not really expect an answer from her part, instead focusing his eyes once more on Alarya. 

“I am going to have to make it very clear tonight that you already have a suitor.” His voice was low as he whispered in her ear, his warm breath brushing her skin and sending shivers down her small body. 

“You are about to parade me on your arm in front of the entire realm. Does that not make it clear enough?” Her voice tied to complain, and yet her eyes gave away that she really longed to enter the celebration on his arm, to make it clear that she belonged to him and he to her, feeling his soothing presence next to her, his gently touch that seemed to make her heart burst with excitement, no matter how much she dreaded the many looks and stares she would no doubt receive tonight. She saw his smile grow bigger and just for a second she thought he might kiss her right there and then, in front of her three very curious and watchful maids. 

“I have something for you.” he said with a grin as he pulled something out from the pocket of his robes. Her eyes immediately fell on the small box, wrapped with silver ribbon as he placed it on her hand. 

“You do know that Winter Solstice’s presents are supposed to be exchanged during the celebration and not before?” She said, her own lips curving in a grin as she almost instantly accepting her present, her hands already starting to pull at the ends of the ribbon. 

“And who said this one was a Winter Solstice present?” Was his reply, ice blue sparkling mockingly as they followed her moving fingers, his agile hands easily taking the box back from her hands “In any case, if you wish to wait, I can give it to you during the celebration, and then it will be a Winters Solstice present.” 

“No, I do not wish to wait.” She said almost instantly, unable to contain a small laugh as he once again deposited the small box on her hands, his smile mirroring hers. And yet, she could not help but feel slightly guilty as she understood what this early gift meant: He had more gifts for her inside the Halls. Of course, part of her felt overly happy, after all, who did not like receiving gifts? And then again, part of her felt overly guilty at the realization that she would be receiving more than one gift, all of them surely worth far much more than the single simple gift she had for him. She wanted to curse herself for not thinking about that before. 

Quickly, she opened the box, her fingers seeming to be as eager as her to reveal the contents inside and she felt a gasp escape her lips as her eyes fell on a delicate sapphire bracelet, probably the most beautiful her eyes had ever seen. Delicately, she took it out of the box, letting her eyes admire the thin gorgeous piece of jewelry, ignoring the three maids whose eyes seemed to be trying to get a proper look of the gift from the corner on which they stood. 

Her eyes met Thranduil’s again, speechless. She did not what to say. She had received many pieces of jewelry in her life, after all her family was a very well known one in Mirkwood, her father a high ranking and renowned warrior. And yet, she was sure no Lady in the entire real had ever received a piece of jewelry as exquisite as this one. Everything, from the delicate silver band to the perfect cut of the sapphires was flawless. 

“Do you like it?” Thranduil’s soft voice echoed in the air and she found her smile widening as she lifted her eyes to meet his. 

“Do I have to put it on by myself?” She asked, and he immediately took the bracelet from her hands, carefully placing around her wrist before clasping the broach. However, his had did not let go of hers, his fingers lacing with hers as his eyes danced from the bracelet on her wrist to her green eyes. 

“Are you ready?” He said as he offered his arm to her and she took it without hesitation, feeling his well muscled arm beneath the many layers of his rich robes. 

“I do not think I will ever be.” She teased, easily allowing him to lead her out of the room, nodding his head at the maids in dismissal. 

It had not really taken a lot of time to persuade her of accepting his invitation to escort her to the Winters Solstice. Part of her had already known she would go with him without hesitation, and even if the thought of openly having the entire realm stare at her scared her, she had to remind herself that he had after all attended the Summer Solstice celebration at her house, where all the stares had been on him. No, it really had not been to convince her to go. What had been a very very long argument had been her attempt to convince her parents, aunt and uncle and cousins to sit at the King’s table that night. Her parents have been too much chocked, feeling slightly uncomfortable to be offered such an honor, after all it was not every elf in Mirkwood who got to sit at the High Table for Winters celebration. But of course, Thranudil would not have no for an answer and she was very well aware that right now, her parents and close family members were most probably already sitting at the High Table, awaiting with the rest of the realm for their King to join the celebration. 

Her heart started to race as they reached the three large pairs of doors that led into the King’s Halls. She could hear the celebration inside, could hear the songs, the chatter of a thousand of elves merged together in an unintelligible murmur, and she found herself gripping at Thranduil’s arm tighter. She was barely aware of the king’s arrival being announced inside the room, or of the chatter quickly dying as the sound of hundreds of chair being pulled back and elves rising to their feet echoed in the door. All she was aware of was of the guards opening the large wooden doors for them, of the thousands of eyes that quickly flew in her direction as Thranduil led her inside the room, the elves bowing respectfully as they passed. 

She did not know how, but she managed to remain calmed, her face entirely composed as she walked tall and elegant by the King’s arm, not betraying the tight knot of nerves that she could feel inside. And yet, she could not help but feel fascinated at the sight of the celebration, her eyes quickly turning over every elegantly dressed elf, every jeweled Lady, every brightly smiling elfling. There were so many colors, so many jewels, the smells of wine, food and pastries filing the warm and festive air. 

Thranduil led her to the High Table, and one of the many servants pulled back the chair to the King’s left, her heart nearly skipping a beat as she realized that the entire celebration was waiting for her to sit first. Silently, she lowered herself to sit and in that moment Thranduil gestured with his arms for all elves to take their seats, followed by the sound of chairs being pulled back and forth inside the endless Halls. 

As it was customary, the Elvenking addressed his realm, but she found herself too nervous to actually pay attention to what he was saying. She did not know how long it lasted while Thranduil greeting his realm and thank the elves for coming, but all too soon he was once again sitting down at the head o the table, wine being served and food being passed around over the long table, set slighter higher than the rest that filled the room. Chatter once again flew over the space, sweet music once again bouncing on the majestic, infinitely stretching stone walls. 

It felt strange to be sitting here, at the end of the Royal Table, next to the King himself, when only a year ago she had been in this same room in this same celebration, watching Thranduil’s powerful and elegant figure from one of tables afar. 

“What are you thinking?” She was brought back from her thoughts at the sound of Thranduil’s gentle yet amused voice, his hand falling over hers upon the table. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see her parents sitting only a couple of places to the King’s right, her three cousins directly to her left. 

“Last year’s celebration.” She admitted, causing a chorus of laughter to escape his mouth, the sound filling her with a kind of warmth more welcomed that the gentle fires dancing on the fireplaces. 

“Should I order for every crystal glass to be removed from the table?” He asked, his ice blue eyes openly mocking her as he brought up the events from the past celebration. 

“Well, as long as you do not step on my way, my Lord, I do not see the need for it.” She replied, unable to hold back her smile as she felt the waves of soothing calmness that he sent through their bond, his hand over hers serving to easily calm her nerves once more. 

“Ah, I see.” He laughed. “So it was I who stepped in your way. Forgive me, then.” 

Now it was her turn to laugh, feeling his hand giving hers a little squeeze before he leaned slightly closer to whisper. “Are you all right?” 

Ice blue eyes studied her, and she could see he could easily tell she was nervous, he could feel it through their bond. She nodded her head reassuringly, fighting back the urge to simply kiss him, or sit on his lap and let his arms wrap safely around her. He nodded his head in return, giving her hand another squeeze before reassuming his conversation with Doronor, his finger stills laced with hers, a thing she was overly glad for. 

“Are you once again admiring the celebration, dearest cousin?” Her older cousin, Aerdan muttered from her left, his green eyes openly teasing her. He did not seem in the slightest uncomfortable or intimidated to be sitting at the High Table this year’s celebration. 

“The only thing she is admiring is wearing silver robes and sitting at the head of the table.” Said her other cousin, Agoron, from Aerdan’s other side before she could even open her mouth to reply. Like his younger brother, Agoron had deep green eyes, but instead of his brother’s golden strands of hair, his were dark brown. She nearly choked on her wine at her eldest cousin’s words, quickly turning to glare at him.

“Agoron!” She scolded, unable to contain a grin as she silently hoped no one around him had heard his words. Luckily for her, all the regal looking elves seemed to be immersed in conversations of their own. 

Her older cousin simply laughed, shaking his head lightly before continuing his conversation with his brother about on the Valar knew what. To her mild despair, Agoron had been spending a lot of time lately with Thranduil. They could be called friends now. She had no idea what it was that the King had asked of her cousin. She remembered holding back a laugh as Agoron suddenly paled when a messenger elf walked into her family’s sitting room saying that the King requested Agoron’s presence in his study. And then, to her further frustration neither her cousin nor Thranduil had been willing to share details with her of their meeting.

“More wine, my Lady?” She quickly looked to her right at the unexpected voice, only to find a servant waiting for her answer to refill her still half-full cut crystal glass of wine. 

“Yes, thank you.” She answered with a nod of her head, her eyes instinctively turning to meet Thranduil’s as she felt his gaze on her, giving her a gentle smile. 

“Nana!” 

Her attention suddenly flew to little elfling running straight to an elegantly dressed Lady directly across from her, resting his little hands on the Lady’s lap as he looked up at his sitting mother, a wide smile lighting his innocent face. Without hesitation, the Lady pushed back her chair, arms easily piking up the elfling before setting the child on her lap, a hand combing through her sons light brown hair which was already starting to fall out of its neat braids. 

“Look!” The elfling’s innocent voice squealed with excitement as a pair of tiny hands holding up two large cookies, causing the mother to laugh. 

“Where did you get that?” The Lady’s voice inquired as her delicate face, so much like the young elfling’s, faked an overly excitement. 

“Coralen’s nana.” The elfing squealed again, large and innocent blue eyes looking up at his mother, every single emotion openly displayed in those azure orbs. 

“Amrudir.” Doronor chirped into the conversation from the Lady’s left, causing the elfling’s eyes to quickly fly in his direction, a new, excited smile on his face. 

“Ada!” the elfling exclaimed, waving his tiny arms in the Advisor’s direction, eager to be transferred onto his father lap. The older elf let out a small laugh, acceding to the child’s request before continuing. 

“Have you…have…Amrudir. Amrudir.” The Advisor seemed to be trying to get the elfling’s attention, but the elfling on his lap seemed to be lost on the many things placed on the table, squirming energetically on his father’s lap. “Amrudir, have you greeted King Thranduil before inviting yourself to sit at his table?” 

The child suddenly stopped squirming, his soft face suddenly frozen in an adorable expression of guilty realization, little mouth in the shape of an ‘oh’ as his openly readable azure eyes widen suddenly, causing a light round of laughter to erupt on the long high table. The child, however, seemed oblivious to the many eyes and smiling faces now focused on him as he suddenly pressed his little palms to the table, leaning forward over the silk tablecloth, head quickly turning to his right, obviously and entirely indiscreetly searching down the long table for the Elvenking. Another round of laughter filled the table, and this time she could not help but laugh along, watching at the child search in the wrong direction. The King was very visibly sitting to Doronor’s direct left.

“Amrudir, other side.” Doronor tried to help the child, who once again seemed to lost in his own little mind to fully pay attention. “Other side.” 

“This way.” Thranduil helped, and the second his voice reached the elfling’s ears, the latter turned around, a wide smile brightening his face as his eyes fell on the Elvenking. 

“Hello.” The child chirped, one little hand waving animatedly at the King in a very very informal greeting, once again erupting a chorus of laughter and sweet stares. 

“Hello who?” Doronor pressed, not even botherting to fight back a laugh and a shake of the head at his very young son’s behavior. A large pair of confused blue eyes turned to look at the Advisor for a second before quickly understanding what he meant.

 

“Hello, King Thranduil.” The young child repeated his animated wave, addressing the King with such ease that made her immediately understand that the King’s presence was not unfamiliar to him. 

“Hello to you too, Amrudir.” The King replied in a gentle tone, one that she had very rarely heard him use in public. The child’s smile widen, innocent blue eyes sparkling with pure joy and admiration. 

The restless elfling, however, would not settle for long, and only seconds after he was already wiggling his way out of Doronor’s lap, only to jump to his own little feet and disappearing through the crowds of elves once more, eager to join the other elflings in the celebration. 

Elves continued to chat animatedly all around the overly large Halls, conversations flowing easily all through the hundreds of tables, merging with the festive music in the background. Food continued to be served and passed, every dish more exquisite than the last, pastries and fresh fruits overflowing from silver bowls in the center of tables. 

It seemed that every single elf sitting at the High Table had wanted a word with her, and all too soon she could no longer remember the names of all the high-ranking elves and members of the court that she had just met. She was only overly relieved that Thranduil remained always by her side, easily adding to the conversations, helping her out when she no longer knew what to say or answer. By that point, the elves had already started to rise from their respective tables, walking along the Halls in groups, joining other tables, couples twirling around in a harmonious waltz. 

“Would you dance?” She turned in time to fall on a pair of gentle ice blue eyes, so powerful and impenetrable, and at the same time so open and inviting. Her lips almost immediately curved into a smile as she accepted Thranduil’s offered hand, allowing him to help her up from the table. 

“With your excuses.” She heard him say to the table in general, silently motioning for the elves who had risen to his feet as he did to sit back down before gently leading her through the crowd and towards the waltzing couples. 

She felt slightly surprised as her heart seemed to swell wit delight, only then realizing that she had been longing for this moment the entire night. The moment in which she could be alone with him, with no prying eyes. Well, there were prying eyes. In fact, every single eye seemed to be focused on them, her own eyes catching an occasional group of Ladies whispering something among them as they stared, but she no longer cared. All she could care at that moment was of Thranduil’s hand resting on her waist, his ice blue eyes gazing directly into hers, the graceful way in which he led her to the rhythm of the music, every single one of his steps flawless. 

“You truly look stunning, Arya.” His gentle lips nearly brushed her cheek as he whispered, sending warm shivers down her body in return, fighting her urge to press her lips to his. He seemed to notice the effect he had on her for she heard a musical chuckle escape his mouth before she felt his lips pressing a light kiss to her cheek, the small gesture making her heart flutter in delight. 

“What color will my pinecone be this year?” He added, eyes gazing at her playfully as he twirled her around, seeming to be oblivious to the watching eyes. 

“You sound too sure that I even have a pinecone for you.” She teased, allowing him to press her closer to him as they danced, feeling his hand adding a little more pressure to her waist. 

“You do not?” He sounded genuinely saddened at the thought, making it impossible for her to hold back a smile. Valar, of course she had a pinecone for him. 

“You will have to wait and see.” 

Out of the corner of her eyes she could see her own parents waltzing to the enchanting music, as Thranduil continued to lead her among the dancing couples. A gentle tap on the shoulder made the King stop his dance, and her eyes quickly found her cousin, Agoron, stading directly behind him. 

“May I?” Her cousin asked politely and almost reluctantly Thranduil relinquished his hold on her, to allow her cousin to lead her through the floor. Valar, she felt like yelling at Agoron. Could he not see she wanted to dance with Thranduil and not with him! 

“You do know, Agoron that I would much rather dance with him than with you?” She admitted, even thought her tone was teasing and she was unable to hold back a smile at her cousin’s mischievous eyes. 

“Oh, I know that very well. That is exactly what I do not like.” She could see the honesty in his voice, even though his eyes held a mocking sparkle that seemed to laugh at her. Oh, Elbereth, why did her cousin have to be so protective of her? Ever since her older brother had died in battle some years ago, Agoron had made sure she was always all right. True, he and his brothers enjoyed teasing her more than anything, sometimes even making part of her want to strangle them, but when it came to any type of serious matter – her relationship with any kind of ellon being the primordial one- Agoron would always be watching, ready to intervene if necessary. 

“You know, dearest cousin,” Her cousin’s voice made her lift her eyes to meet his, green meeting green in a familiar warm stare “the entire realm if talking about how happy the King is tonight.” 

There was real joy in her cousin’s voice, even though his eyes maintained their playful sparkle, as if not wanting to reveal too much of what he was feeling to her. His words caused her smile to widen, and her eyes involuntarily searched through the crowd, eager to find where Thranduil had disappeared to. 

“You are dancing with me. Stop looking for him.” She let out a laugh and jumped slightly as her cousin’s hand at her waits tickled her to get her attention. Nonetheless, that did manage to get her attention back on him. 

“You really do love him.” It was not a question, but a realization, his voice suddenly low, and she did not know if he was talking to her of to himself. 

“I do.” Was all she could manage as a reply, Agoron twirling her once more. Suddenly, the expression on his face was one she had never before seen in him. His smile was still present, welcoming, warm, eyes still holding their usual carefree sparkle, and yet, there in the liquid depths of his emerald eyes was another emotion, one she could not entirely read. Joy? Sadness? She could not tell. 

“Alarya, Queen of Greenwood.” Agoron muttered, the name suddenly sounding strange to her ears, like something she would never even dream of getting accustomed to. 

“I am not Queen of Greenwood, Agoron.” She immediately corrected, only seeing her cousin’s smile widen slightly. 

“That is only matter of time. Elves do not love twice.” He was teasing her, and yet she could hear the veracity in his voice. Somehow, she knew his words were true, part of her had known it for a long time, even though she tried to convince herself otherwise, lying to herself. And yet, that distant reality had been drawing nearer and nearer every second, and with every passing hour she knew it more and more surely. She could see it in the way his ice blue eyes looked openly into hers, in the way she felt her own heart flutter widely as he looked at her, as she feel into the endlessness of his irises, in the way in which his simple touch send warm shivers down her body. And still, she knew it clearing in the way in which their bond, so frail and small in the beginning seemed to grow with every second, every single one of his emotions, every single one of thoughts always more reachable to her their spirits merging into one, bonding eternally. 

“You know your life will never be the same?” Her cousin’s soft and melancholic voice brought her thoughts back to him. “You will never again sit lowly and unnoticed at a celebration like this. Guards and maids will follow your every step, eyes always focused on you. And when you have children – for the King will need an heir – their life will never be like the one you had. They will be princes and princesses, their whole childhood they will be protected, they will not run alone and unguarded through the forest like did.” 

She did not know what to say, her gaze lost into his saddened and melancholic eyes. He was not saying it to bother her, was not trying to make her coward out, to rethink her relationship with Thranduil. No. he simply seemed to be studying her, analyzing her, as if he needed to know for sure for his own sake that she knew where her life was headed, and that she was happy with it. 

She turned her gaze away, his words feeling like a heavy burden suddenly placed over her heart, a burden that was suddenly lifted as her eyes caught sight of Thranduil among the crowd of elves. The King was standing some distance from where she stood, the child she had seen before, Amrudir, safely haled in his arms as he lifted the little elfling in the air, the latter swinging his little hands in an attempt to grab at one of the many tiny golden flowers hanging in waterfalls from the ceiling. Every time the child would extend his hands to grab at a flower, Thranduil would suddenly lower him, making his task impossible. 

“Stop pulling me down!” She could hear the elfling squealing, a laugh filtering through his complaint. 

“I am not doing anything.” Thranduil’s voice was stained with overly faked innocence, causing the child to laugh louder. 

“Yes, you are!” 

“No, I am not. Now stretch your hand and try again. Get me that one.” She heard Thranduil say as he pointed to a particular flower, lifting the child higher and waiting for him to extend his little hand again before quickly lowering him so that the elfling would once again miss his target. 

“You did it again!” 

“did what?” 

She felt her smile grow larger, her eyes quickly noticing that hers were not the only ones fixed on the King at that moment. She had not even noticed that the piece she had been dancing to had already ended, her cousin stopped twirling her through the floor. Yes, she had known for a while now that her life would never be the same. She knew that if they ever had children their lives would be far different from the one she had. And yet, it had never before been clearer to her that this was precisely what she wanted: To be Thranduil’s wife. She wanted for him to be her husband, to spend all of eternity with him, to watch him tease their children. 

“Yes, I know.” She turned to face Agoron once more, finally answering his long question, unable to hide her smile. “I know, and I will love every second of it.” 

Her cousin’s smile seemed to widen, and for the first time, it was not a teasing or mocking smile. It was genuine smile, one like the ones he so rarely shared, joy brightening his wild emerald eyes. When he spoke, his voice was a soft as his eyes, no longer teasing her. 

“You also need to know that you will one day make a wonderful Queen, Alarya. A Queen like no other the Greenwood has had. And the entire realm seems to know that already.” 

She lowered her eyes, not knowing what to say. Valar she wished she had even half the confidence on herself that her cousin seemed to have. This however, made Agoron laugh, who simply placed a brotherly kiss on her cheek, like he had done so many times in their lives before whispering to her in a light tone, his voice once again openly mocking her. “Now go to him. I have kept you too long already and I fear to provoke the wrath of the King.” 

It was her turn to laugh, shaking her head lightly and offering her cousin one last smile before making her way to where Thranduil stood. She saw his ice blue eyes catch sight of her as she approached and he gently placed the child back on his little feet. 

“All right, go play.” He ordered the elfling, who did not complain as he dashed away, joining the rest of the running elflings.

“I thought your cousin would never free you.” He said as she reached his side, one of his arms safely wrapping around her waist, starting to lead her to the High Table, where she could already see a pair of servants placing a bunch of neatly wrapped gifts. 

All over the Halls elves had started to seat once again at their family’s tables, gifts starting to be exchanged and opened, the few elflings in the Halls eager to unwrap their presents. She could already feel eyes once again on her back. There was no way the elves of Mirkwood would not be watching their King exchanging his own gifts. 

Thranduil led her to the seat next to his, waiting for her to be sitting before lowering himself on his throne-like chair. She could see the table in from of him already filled with gifts. This gifts were not for the King. His gifts were already piled on a different table. She had seen that table in the corner only fill and fill more and more with gifts as the night progressed, every elf in the realm seeming to have brought a gift for their King. No. This gifts in front of her were from the King. 

“Wine, my Lord?” A servant approached Thranduil, carrying in his hand the King’s cut crystal glass now entirely filled with the reddest of wine. The Elvenking nodded his thanks as he gladly accepted it, sipping lightly from it before placing it on the table, ice blue eyes lifting once again to meet hers. 

“All right.” He said, am excited smile curving up at the edge of his lips. “This one first.” 

He pushed a small, long box in her direction, held together by an elegant golden ribbon. She felt suddenly overly guilty, her eyes dancing over the pile of gifts on the table in front of her. These were for her. They all had her name on the tiny tags. 

“I only have one gift for you.” A guilty smile played on her face as she admitted to him, but her words did not seem to bother him in the slightest. 

“That is already one more than I was expecting, Arya.” He said, his hand curling over hers under the table, giving her a gentle squeeze away from preying eyes. “I do not need gifts. My gift will be watching you open your gifts.” 

She smiled to him, for like the hundredths time that night fighting her urge to simply kiss him right there and then. 

“Can I at least give my gift first before you outshine me with yours?” She asked, unable to hold back a chuckle as she realized how pathetic her little gift would look in just a second. He laughed at her request, shaking his head lightly before acceding. 

“As you wish.” 

Without another word she placed her own little box in front of him, trying he best to ignore the curious glances from the nearby tables. She had never been one to make herself small, always portraying herself with as much dignity and elegance as she could, but still this many eyes constantly staring at her was way more than she was comfortable with. The Elvenking took the neatly wrapped box in his slender hands, shaking it by his ear for a second. 

“Is it my pinecone?” He asked, his eyes looking more excited than she tough they should be. It was only a pinecone after all, and yet he made it sound like a thousand emeralds. That made her laugh. 

“Stop trying to guess and open it.” 

“I will be disappointed if it is not a pinecone.” 

“Just open it.” 

Thranduil took his time unwrapping the gift, his movements always so graceful, so effortless. After only a couple of minutes she saw him lift the lid of the box, a broad smile drawing on his lips as he gazed inside. Carefully he lifted the small pinecone she had already known was inside. This time, it was painted a light shade of green, unlike the blue one she had gifted him the previous year. The spikes where adorned in gold, silver and blue, and she had to admit to herself that it was on the finest pinecones she had managed to paint in her life. 

“It is gorgeous.” He said, smiling widely at her before his eyes dropped once again to the box, seeming to notice the other thing sitting there. “What is this?” 

She knew he was looking at the worn out book siting at the bottom of the box, even though he did not pull it out, not seeming to want to reveal it to the curious eyes watching their exchange. She was glad for that. She did not really want the entire realm to know in detail what she had gifted Thranduil. 

“It is a journal of mine. It is a couple of years old, and is already full so I do not have need for it anymore. You will find many things in there, some more embarrassing than others, there are drawings, poems, thoughts, and there even are a couple of letters I wrote to you that I never got myself to send.” She admitted, smiling at how ridiculous she must be sounding. The Elvenking, however, only smiled wider, looking at her with the same attention and curiosity that he had when she had first explained to him the meaning behind her pinecones. 

“Am I allowed to read it?” He asked, not seeming to believe that was case, one again managing to make her laugh lightly. 

“Of course you are. Otherwise I would not be gifting it to you.” 

Ice blue eyes met hers, and she once again felt lost in them, drowning in infinite pools of the clearest of blues, pulling her like the soft call of the sea. Wordlessly, she felt him take her hand to his lips, pressing a light kiss on the back of her hand. 

“Thank you.” The words were soft, as honest as his eyes. 

“Now, your turn.” He once again pushed the small, long box in her direction and she obediently started to unwrap it, holding out another surprised gasp as she found inside a necklace that perfectly matched her new sapphire bracelet. 

Gift after gift she went, obediently unwrapping the ones Thranduil kept specifying for her, him seeming to have a specific order to go. Every gift was better than the last, and soon she started to wonder if there was even an elf in all of Arda that had ever received gifts like this. Her did not want to believe what they were seeing. She received more necklaces, more bracelets, hairpieces, another empty journal, quills, the finest cloak she had ever seen and a breath-taking broach to go with it. It was overwhelming. 

Soon, there were only two gifts left on the table, and by that point, she could feel the entire celebration watching them through the incessant chatter and music that filled the room. Thranduil picked the slightly larger box, pushing it in front of her, once again waiting patiently for her to unwrap it, a gorgeous smile on his handsome face. 

She shook her head as she silently pulled at the silver ribbon. What else could she possibly receive that was better than everything he had already given her? And then, the moment her eyes gazed inside the box, she knew that once again he had overdone the previous gift. She did not know what to say, her eyes glued to the magnificent piece inside the box, speechless. 

“Thranduil…” She breathed out, no longer able to conjugate a full sentence. She could feel his eyes on her but she could not look up from the box, a new wave of emotions filling her body. 

There, resting safely on a small cushion on the bottom of the box was a pinecone. But it was not any kind of pinecone. No. This one was made in crystal, every single detail so perfectly, reflecting and refracting the light in every single direction, in every single color. Like her own painted pinecones, this one had the spiked standing out in different colors, except that instead of paint it was through tiny sapphires, emeralds and rubies. She had never seen anything as beautiful as this. 

“Do you like it?” He asked, ice blue eyes studying her, waiting for her answer. How could she possibly not like it? 

“Thranduil I…” She was stunned. “I do not know what to say.” 

“Just say you like it.” He helped her, his head searching for her. He no longer seemed to be caring that every elf inside the Halls seemed to be curiously watching them, and honestly, neither did she. 

“I love it.” She said, her voice betraying her overflow of emotions. Valar, she wanted to kiss him, to jump into his arms and have him hold her tight to him. His eyes brightened at her words, that gorgeous smile she so adorned once again illuminated in his handsome face. 

“Now open the last one.” He instructed, gesturing to the only gift remaining on the table. It was far smaller than the rest, and for a second she almost did not want to open, doubting greatly that she could ever in her life like a gift more than she had liked that pinecone. Nothing could even start to compare to it. 

“You know, I will not like it better than that pinecone.” She admitted to him as her hands slowly started to pull at the delicate golden ribbon, watching him say nothing in return. 

Slowly, she unwrapped a little black velvet box, and her eyes widen for a second as she realized she had seen this same box before. She had seen it in his study, only some weeks ago. He had quickly placed away from her hold, and she had not really put much though on it. She felt her heart starting to race, her mind already guessing just what was inside this tiny velvet box, almost afraid to open it. And yet, her fingers pulled it open, her heart making a wild jump inside of her, a loud gasp escaping her lips as a hand flew to her mouth. 

Nothing she could have ever dreamed or imagined could have prepared her for that moment. There, sitting on a cushion inside the tiny box was the most beautiful engagement ring she had ever seen. She felt her throat tightened, words choking in her mouth. 

Her mind seemed to try to deny what was happening, her heart threatening to burst with joy as the tiny box now shook on her trembling hand. 

Her gaze followed Thranduil as he rose from his seat only to lower himself to one knee in front of her. The King’s move did not go unnoticed by the rest of the celebration, the entire Halls now gone quiet, the chattering dying as every single elf turned their heads, some quickly whispering to others, seeming to be updating those who had missed a detail. 

Her hand was still pressed to her mouth, feeling her heart drumming loudly, unable to control the grin that had now appeared on her lips. Valar, why was she in so much shock? Why could she not control her emotions? They were too much. Her eyes already starting to fill with tears. 

“You are not doing this.” The words escaped her lips with a nervous laugh, shaking her head in denial as she stared at him, kneeling in front of her, his smile as wide as hers. 

“Yes I am.” He explained the obvious, only making her shake her head once more, tears, rolling down her face as her cheeks seemed to burn with the intensity of her grin. 

“Alarya Lasgaeriel…” He started. It was as if she was in too much shock and joy to accept that this was really happening. And then, with his next words she felt her heart nearly explode with joy, the tears already blurring her vision. 

 

“Will you marry me?”


	13. Answer

“ Will you marry me?”

The words left his mouth so easily he could barely believe it. The entire Hall had gone silent, but he had not noticed. All he could do was look at her. But then again, that was all he had been able to do the entire night: Look at her. Her large emerald eyes, the color of the green fresh leaves on summer, shimmered with the sparkle of tears. No jewel on Arda could ever shine more than her eyes. She had one of her hands pressed to her mouth, her small body trembling as seconds stretched, and for a second fear crept up over his body. Valar, she was not going to answer. She could not not answer. 

“Yes.” The word was slow, barely audible. 

What? He only hoped he had been able to hide his shock from showing on his face. Had she said yes? Had he heard right? No that could not be right. Was she really going to marry him? No, certainly he had heard wrong. He could not possibly be that lucky, could he? 

“Yes.” She said again, this time a little louder, the hand falling from her mouth as her lips curved up in the most beautiful of smiles, so full with light. “Yes, I will marry you.” 

His heart stopped, his smile now matching hers and for a moment everything else inside the room disappeared, everything else but her glittering emerald eyes. Oh, Valar, how much he loved her. He rose to his feet just in time as she flung her delicate arms around him, his own arms instantly wrapping around her tightly, her lisp meeting his before he could even realize it, the kiss speaking more than worlds ever could. 

Cheers exploded in the Halls and only then did he remember where he was, and that the Winters Solstice’s celebration was still going on around them, every single pair of eyes in the large space focused on them. Of course, this was not the first marriage proposal to ever take place during this particular celebration, and would most certainly not be the last, but that had not stop every single elf in the room to spy on this particular proposal. And yet, he could not have cared less at that moment. 

A light laugh escaped his lips, unable to hide his smile or compose his face. The clapping and cheering had not yet ceased and Alarya’s face pressed tight against his chest as a combination of silent sobs and chuckles escaped her tiny, trembling body, her smile only widening. His own arms wrapped around her in return, unable to hold back another light laugh at her reaction. 

His eyes quickly found Doronor, only some short distance away, dark blue eyes looking at him beneath a raised, teasing eyebrow. Of course his advisor and closest friend had already known he would be proposing to Alarya tonight, but that did not seem to stop the mocking grin from appearing on his face as he approached, and just for this night, Thranduil did not feel the urge to glare at him. Alarya had let go of him, turning to meet her own parents, Lord Lasgaer and Lady Laessel, who were already quickly approaching. Her delicate hand slid down to find his and Thranduil’s slender fingers immediately intertwined with hers. 

“Congratulations, my Lord.” The Advisor said with a respectful bow of his head as he reached the Elvenking’s side, and yet the mirth in his grin was that of a friend. 

Alarya was currently prey of the tight embrace of her mother, her delicate hand still gripping his, as if she would never let go, but he would not let go either. May more elves had already risen to their feet, walking in their direction, no doubt to personally offer their congratulations as well, and those elves who had decided to wait a little longer before approaching had reassumed the celebration with more vigor that before. Music was once playing, couples dancing and conversations and laughter travelling around the room as if the Winters Solstice’s celebration had just started once again. 

“I honestly was beginning to think that the Greenwood would never have a Queen.” His advisor’s deep voice teased him openly, making him chuckle in disbelief at his tone. Yes, Doronor seemed to know that he would not be able to get a glare from him for the length of the night. But to Mordor with that, he was enjoying his friend’s mocking comments. 

“So did I, my friend.” He replied, unable to make his grin disappear form his face and receiving a gentle pat on the back. 

“And now, the Greenwood has a new ruler.” His friend’s dark blue eyes sparkle with a smirk he usually only ever wore when they were in private. 

“Let me remind you that I am still King of the Greenwood. I am still the ruler here.” The Elvenking narrowed his eyes, even though eh failed in his attempt to throw a poisonous look at his advisor, his now permanent grin making it impossible for him to look threatening tonight, and Doronor was taking advantage of the situation. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Alarya now being crushed by one of her cousins in the tightest of embraces, the other two speaking to her so quickly that he could not catch a single word. 

“Of course, my King.” Doronor chuckled. “You rule the Greenwood. But Lady Alarya rules you.” 

His eyes widened in bewilderment, both of his eyebrows shooting up as yet another disbelieved laughter left his lips. 

“You are dismissed.” He said in between chuckles, Doronor not looking the slightest ashamed for his words, his eyes still teasing him openly, laughing along with him. 

“Dismissed from the Feast, my Lord?” The Advisor asked, seeming to know very well that his King was not at all angry with him. Doronor’s voice sounded as polite as ever, and yet even as he addressed him formally, the tone in his voice remained that of a friend. 

“Dismissed from around me.” He said, narrowing his ice blue eyes at the sheepishly looking elf who bowed his head in an overly exaggerated polite motion. Thranduil fought the urge to roll his eyes, softly shoving Doronor in the shoulder. “Be of use and order for my best wine to be brought up and served to every table.” 

The blond Advisor shook his head as his laughter echoed through the crowded Halls, happily walking away to carry on with his new order, and Thranduil got the feeling that his friend was still not done teasing him. Alarya had remained next to him the entire time, her fingers still laced with him, her hand so tiny, so precious we was scared to hold it too tightly for fear that it might break. Her entire family was still clustered around her, everyone speaking at the same time as he turned his attention to them. 

“…really happy for you, Alarya…” He could hear her youngest cousin, Anethor saying, but did not catch anything else as Agoron cut his brother off, adding something that he did not understand. At the moment, he was too busy turning around and politely accepting congratulations and good wishes from a couple of members of the court. 

“Are you not going to show me the ring, my daughter?” He heard Lady Laessel asking Alarya, her hands gently placed on her daughters shoulders, smiling widely. 

The ri-? The ring! Valar, how could he have forgotten about that tiny detail! Alarya had instinctively looked down at her hand, only for a confused expression to cross her face as she found it empty, her smiling, puzzled emerald eyes turning to look at him. The little velvet box was still securely held in his hand, the stunning ring laying forgotten upon the tiny cushion. 

“I have it.” He said, making Alarya’s sweet laughter to fill hears, the sound like a thousand of tiny silver bells singing in the wind. And then, as her forest green eyes met his, everything else seemed to disappear once more, the light in her eyes outshining everything else. 

He watched as her smile widened, that smile, ever so warm and welcoming. Her left hand lifted in the air, just enough for him to be able to take in his, his fingers gently sliding the ring on her third finger. For a moment, he could not keep his eyes from it, the ring, ever so delicate, so pure and precious, like her, was a physical proof of their engagement, was the treasurable thing that showed the world that she was his. He could not look away from her as she turned to face her mother, showing the ring newly placed on her finger, could not look away as her cousins teased her for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. 

He did not know for how long they stood there, receiving wishes of happiness with what seemed to be every elf in Mirkwood. All around the infinitely expanding halls, the feast continued with a newfound enthusiasm. Wine – the best of his Dorwinion- had been served to every table without exclusions. And yet, his eyes could not part from Alarya’s figure. She had lodged herself so deeply into his heart, little did she know how much power she already had over him. Her small body was pressed to his side as she graciously accepted all the words and wishes from very single member of the court, council and his advisors. He could feel her nervousness at the sudden intensified attention she was receiving and he gently placed an arm lightly around her waist, pressing her tighter to him, his move unnoticed by the rest of the elves around them who kept complimenting her. And yet, never once did she loose that air of confidence and elegance that always seemed to surround her.

“Let us dance.” His eyes flew down to meet her large emerald orbs looking up at him, her words a whispered only he had heard. 

“Of course.” He complied almost immediately, quickly turning to address the elves currently clustered around them. “If you would excuse us.” He said in his perfectly serene voice, watching as the elves bowed their heads respectfully before leading Alarya away and towards the crowd of waltzing couples. 

The feast continued for endless hours. Elves danced and sang, and wine continued to be served along with more food and exquisite pastries and deserts. He danced with Alarya for what felt like a mere second, the hours passing by unnoticed as he twirled her around, every single one of her moves so graceful, so regal. His eyes carefully scanned the large space around them, happily finding out that finally the attention was no longer strictly focused on them. The elegantly dressed elves in the Halls too immersed in their own conversations and merry celebration. 

“Let us get out here.” He whispered in her ear as he led her through the crowd of waltzing couples, his lips brushing her ear lightly. Her bright emerald eyes turned to meet his, a sheepish smile lighting up her flawless face. 

She nodded her head, and he did not think it twice before silently leading her out of the room, slipping through the door entirely unnoticed. The celebration could do without them for a couple of hours. Outside the main halls, the Palace was deserted, the majestic silent walls the only witnesses to their rushed steps. He let to through the vast empty terraces and out into the moonlit gardens. The music and light from the Palace grew fainter and fainter until finally disappearing as they walked through the softly swaying trees, her hand held securely in his and her long golden hair shimmering in sparkles of gold and silver underneath the light of the stars above. 

“Where are we going?” She asked him as they walked, using one of her pale hands to lift the front of her dragging dress in an attempt to not step on it. 

“I have no idea.” He confessed, watching as the frail moonlight kissed her pale porcelain skin underneath the thick canopy of the trees. 

A musical chorus of giggles escaped her mouth, floating in the wind like fluttering butterflies. She stopped walking, her arms suddenly lacing around his neck, and he immediately looked down at her, nearly an entirely head taller. Slowly, he leaned in, unable to stop himself as he pressed his lips to hers in a warm passionate kiss, his hands instantly lacing around her waist as he felt her own delicate fingers tangling on his hair. When they finally broke apart he placed a light kiss on the tip of her nose, then on her forehead before resting his forehead against hers, his hands never untangling from around her waist. Valar, how much he loved her. 

And then, for the first time in long long years, he lost it. He, the Elvenking Thranduil, the image of perfectly practiced serenity and cold elegance, lost his composure. Before he could even realize it, his hands had picked her up from the waist, lifting her into the air as he pressed her tight against him. A cry of surprise and mirth left her gorgeous lips as he twirled her around, his arms crushing her as tight as he dared without harming her as her own thin arms wrapped tightly around his neck nearly chocking him from surprise. For the first time in long, very long years, he felt like an elfling, protocols, formalities and propriety suddenly meaningless and unimportant. All he could do was hold her tight, delighting in the sound of her continues cries and laughter as he spun her around. 

“Put me down!” She squealed in joy, her legs kicking around and tangling in her swirling long dress as she tried in vain to free herself from his crushing embrace.   
Laughing lightly, he complied, his heart swelling as the palm of her hand came to rest on his cheek before her lips met his once again in a loving kiss. 

Once they broke apart he watched her walk to the base of a think tree trunk, gracefully lowering herself to the grass and eh followed, lowering himself next to him and allowing her to accommodate herself against his chest. She held up her hand, examining the engagement ring on her lift hand’s third finger. 

“Do you like it?” He asked, gently placing his lips to the top of her head as his eyes admired the delicate jewel. Valar, he had given the jeweler so much trouble for that ring. In fact he was actually scared that the jeweler would refuse to make any other article of jewelry for him in the coming years. 

Her large emerald eyes turned to meet his, as warm and fresh as the forest around them, her hand dropping to her lap. “It is perfect.” 

He could not contain himself from stealing yet another kiss from her sweet lips. Elbereth, she had agreed to marry him. It felt like yesterday that she had walked away from him, set on her choice of not wanting anything to do with him for fear of becoming Queen. And now here she was, nestled against his chest, engaged to him, with no one but the calmly singing forest around them. 

“I love you.” He said, the words once again leaving his mouth with an ease he could never begin to understand, as if those where the only words that we wanted to say to her for the rest of eternity. Her delicate finger traced the length of one of his eyebrows, all the way to the end of his eye before sliding down his cheek, emerald eyes consuming him. 

“I love you too.” She said, her tiny body pressed against his and he felt the urge to hold her tighter, to never let her go, to keep her safe in his strong arms, where nothing and no one could ever touch her, could ever damage her. Soflty, he leaned back, lying flat on the grass as he pulled her down with him, her head resting on top of his chest. Her lips captured his once more, and this time he found himself lifting his head in an attempt to stretch the kiss as he felt her pulling apart. Then, she propped up on his chest, her folded arms carrying her weight as her fingers absently traced patterns on the neckline of his silver robes. 

“You are going to stain your robes.” She said, biting her lower lip as she usually did when too many emotions wracked her body and she could not rally think of anything to say. He could not care less about his robes at the moment. 

“It does not matter.” He tenderly placed a strand of her long golden hair that had fallen free from her braid behind her pointed ear. A gorgeous smile crossed her face, and she once again lowered her head to rest on his chest, her hand just below his collarbone as she nuzzled closer to him. His arms responded almost instinctively, wrapping around her securely, his silver robes blanketing over her slim figure. 

“Blue suits you better.” She said as her fingers continued to trace over the embroidery of his robes. 

“You do not like these?” He asked, motioning to his silver robes as his other hand now absently running up and down her back. A light chuckle left her lips as she tilted her head to look at his eyes. 

“I do like those.” She said with a playful smile. “I am just saying that I like you better in blue, Thran.” 

Oh, there is was again, the shortened name that could make her get anything she wanted out of him, and as if she knew exactly what to expect –well of course she knew exactly what to expect- she leaned in, waiting for the kiss that she had earned. And he kissed her. 

“My parents are going to loose their heads for the next year now that there is a wedding to plan.” Her voice was so enchanting, so warm and soothing and he could not hold back a chuckle as he thought of Lasgaer. The renowned warrior was not known for his patience when it came to these kinds of events. 

“It will be fine.” He told her, placing the lightest of kisses on the top of her head. 

“You know, my father gets particularly ill tempered when under stress. That got me many a lecture when I was en elfling.” She had propped herself up on her forearms once again, her seemingly inexistent weight falling on his chest. 

“Why do I have the feeling that you were not a perfectly well behaved elfling either?” He said in return, watching her eyes widen. “Perhaps that is what got you many a lecture?” 

“For your information, my Lord,” She began, her voice dripping with fake indignation as she leaned closer to him, making him have to fight his urge to close the tight gap between their lips. “I was a perfectly well behaved elfling. I never disobeyed a single order I was given.” 

“That, Arya, I do not believe.” He said, his lips brushing hers. 

“I believed that part of being engaged meant that you trusted me. Do you not trust me to be telling the truth?” Her voice was filled with overly exaggerated offense as her sparkling forest colored eyes look straight at his, so open, so steady, shimmering with a light brighter that that of the stars. He had to laugh at her words.   
“I still do not believe that you never disobeyed a single order.” He repeated, placing a quick kiss on the tip of her nose. 

“I told you I’m speaking the truth.” 

“Fine.” He said as he propped himself up on his elbows, Alarya sitting up straight. “I never disobeyed a single order either.” 

And then, she burst into laughter, her chuckles floating on the soothing breeze of the night and carried away by the song of the forest. 

“Impossible.” She said finally, emerald eyes looking at him underneath a raised delicate eyebrow. 

“And how would you know?” Once of his eyebrows shot up to match hers as he watch her carefully studying him seeming to be doubting for a second whether or not he has indeed speaking the truth. 

“Because, your Majesty,” She emphasized his tittle, as she always did whenever she used it. “I know you all to well to believe that you would not be temped to disobey a single order in your life. And I said that I never disobeyed an order, but I did indeed work around them.” She confessed. 

Now it was his turn to laugh. Of course Alarya would find a way to get around everything. 

“All right” he said at last, laying once again flat on his back as she leaned her weight one more over his chest. “I did disobey orders in my youth, although only once did I ever deliberately disobey one from my father, and I learned my lesson.” 

She chuckled lightly, lying her head down flatly on his chest as she nuzzled closer to him, accommodating herself against him. “Was he very strict?” 

Her soft, innocent question reached his ears, and for a moment he did not know how to answer. No one, not a single elf, had asked him about his father since his death, as if it was a subject that was not be brought up around him. It felt strange. Her question felt strange, not painful in any way, simply strange, his mind automatically drifting down a path that had been pushed aside for so many years. 

Alarya seemed to have perceived his hesitation for her head tilted upwards to look at him, a sudden regretful expression crossing her flawless face, her eyes looking mortified. “I am sorry.” 

“What for?” His eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, offering her a small smile. “There is nothing wrong with asking.” The faintest of smiles crossed her face, but she remained quiet and he lifted his eyes to the blackened sky above, taking a deep breath. 

“He…he was strict, yes.” He started, his voice calmed, feeling her lifting her head to look at him but his eyes remained fixed on the swaying leaves high above. “That does not mean he did not have a soft side, but on the greater part he was very strict…very serious.” 

What was he doing? Why was he suddenly telling her all of this? It felt overly strange, the sensation one he could not name. Never since his father’s passing had he even mentioned his name. Nothing. Everything, very single memory simply cast aside. And for what? Why was he saying this now? And to his surprise, it was not pain or grief what he felt at the moment. Time had already healed those wounds, even though the memories still weighed heavily on him. 

“You know…” He said as he lowered his eyes to look into her vast green eyes, a very faint smile on his face. “He kept this absolutely beautiful pair of knives in his chambers, in a wooden box by his desk. I had been told many times not to play with them, but of course I ignored it…” 

The particular memory crossed his mind so vividly, every single detail still perfectly engraved in his memory, and yet, once again, the feeling that came along with it was not grief or pain. No. It was a different feeling. Something almost like nostalgia. 

“…I was very young. An elfling. Not yet old enough to start training with arms. He was there that day, sitting in his desk going over some papers, as he usually did, and I was playing quietly in a corner of the room. Of course I was not usually allowed to be with him while he was working, but that day had been an exception. The thing is, I was bored, and that particular wooden box kept calling to me because I knew what was inside, and the more my father told me not to touch his knives, the more I wanted to hold them.” 

Alarya had remained perfectly quiet, simply listening, so he continued. 

“He looked so busy that I thought I could get a hold of them without him noticing. So, as silently as I could, I walked to the edge of his desk and opened the box. And there they were, the beautiful knives, too fascinated to be true. And so, I stretched my hands and took them, right there under his nose. He saw me do it. I saw him watching me taking them, but he did not say anything, and all I could think about was the pair of knives now in my hands. He simply looked at me carefully for a moment before saying in a warning tone that meant that I was in trouble ‘I have told you to not play with those’.” 

He smiled as the memory flashed freshly on his head, his father’s voice so clear, even the room around him and the weight of the knives on his little weak hands feeling overly real. And it felt good to remember, to prove that he had not forgotten everything. 

“I did not listen to him, and after a short while he warned me again. He said, ‘Do not play with those knives, they are sharp and you will cut yourself’. He was being overly patient with me for some reason, and I of course was taking all the advantage I could out of it. Besides, I was sure I was not going to cut myself. But he warned me again saying, ‘You will cut yourself, Thranduil. Do not play with those’. And once again, I did not listen. I was sure I was not going to cut myself. Why would my father ever know better? And then, after some minutes, he said, ‘If you cut yourself, I will pour salt over the cut, because I have warned you three times and you do not listen’.”

He turned his eyes to look down at her, only to find that gorgeous smile he loved so much illuminating her face. “And do you know what happened?” 

“Let me guess.” She said, shifting so that she was once again propped up on his chest, looking down at him. “You cut yourself.” 

“Yes.” He admitted, letting out a slight chuckle as he placed a light kiss on the edge of her mouth. “One of the knives slipped from my hands, and I cut myself. Right here…” With his fingers he traced a small line on the outer side of his forearm, close to his wrist.” 

Her large emerald eyes followed his finger, lingering on his arm for a second before they found his again, stretching a silent moment before she spoke. “And….? …..Did your father…?” 

Oh, that curiosity in her eyes, in her voice. He knew she would ask, and could not hold back his smiled from widening at her expectant look. 

“No, he did not.” He confessed, watching her face relax once again as her head fell once more over his chest. He shifted to his side so that her back was pressed to his chest. “But he did take me down to the kitchens and took out the salt. He did manage to scare me. I cried and screamed the entire way there. But he did not do it, and never again did I ignore any of his warnings or disobeyed his orders. And then of course he gave me some honeycakes and carried me back upstairs.” 

Her musical laughter floated in the wind, dancing to the rhythm of the swaying trees. He remained silent, his mind still wondering through the path of forgotten memories, those that he had pushed back into the deepest part of his mind, and there they had stayed imprisoned. His father would have liked Alarya. He would have never told her personally, but he would have liked her. 

“Thranduil?” Her whispered voice brought him back form his wondering thoughts, the change in her voice perceivable, suddenly worried, slightly scared. She turned around in his arms to face him. “I do not know how to be Queen.” 

A small smile broke through his lips, his hand easily finding her left one, his fingers toying with the newly placed ring there. “Nobody ever knows, Arya.” 

That seemed to help her for she smiled in return, relaxing once again in his arm. He wished he had a better answer for her, but truth was, he did not. In this matter, he was as clueless as her. Then, her eyes lifted once more to meet his, her golden hair framing her face in a starlit halo, the many tiny jewels incrusting in her braids shimmering under the pale moonlight. 

“You do know, Thran, that our engagement means that you will be attending my parents Summer Solstice’s celebration next year as well, do you not?” The playful and mocking sparkle in her mischievous grin made him narrow his eyes lightly at her. Oh, Valar, she had to bring that up. 

“I cannot possibly go worse than this year’s celebration.” He managed to say, leaning in once more to give her the kiss she knew she had earned. 

“You would be surprises.” She said as they broke apart. “Should we head back inside?” 

He sat up straighter. “Do you want to return to the feast?” He asked, ready to lead her back inside. 

“Not really, no.” She said as she sat up as well. “I was just wondering since you are King if you should not be present at the feast.” 

He laughed, considering his options before answering. 

“I should be present at the feast. However, I do not think anyone will miss me tonight. You see, the wine they are serving is a very, very, very strong wine, so I doubt many elves have noticed our disappearance. I would bet most of them still believe we are there.” 

It was her turn to laugh, sitting comfortably against chest. “Good, because I want to stay here. And I want to dance.” 

He shook his head lightly, rising to his feet and gently pulling her up with him before offering her his hand. “My Lady.” 

Her smile shone brightly on her face as she accepted his hand, her pearl colored dress swirling around her graceful body as he led her on the grass, twirling her around the enchanting rhythm of an inexistent music. And they danced through the trees, and they walked through the gardens until he lost track of the hours. The feast, with the merrily dancing and singing elves must have ended hours ago, elves retiring to their houses for the night, and yet, they stayed in the gardens. The night seemed to drag infinitely until they collapsed once more on the soft grass, underneath the heavy canopy and he could feel her head resting on his chest, falling more and more heavily as sleep started to take hold of her. He did not dare move, waiting, holding her gently as she slowly drifted off in exhaustion, the first golden rays of the morning sun filtering through the thick branches and robust leaves. 

As carefully as he could, he scooped her up in his arms, intent on not walking. Her small body felt weightless as he slowly carried her back to the Palace and through the deserted corridors that led to her family’s chambers. Lord Lasgaer opened the door before he had even reached it, the warrior dressed up in clean clothes and ready for the waking day. The Lord’s green eyes fell on his sleeping daughter, before falling on him, and for a second he thought he saw a faint smile cross his lips, so faint that he was not entirely sure he saw it. 

“Alarya.” He whispered to her, trying to wake her gently so she could go to her bed. 

“Do not wake her, my Lord. Such a task is nearly impossible.” Lord Lasgaer’s voice was as steady as always, and he nodded his head, watching as the Lord stepped aside to allow him into the elegant Sitting Room. “Here.” 

He followed the warrior as he led him to Alarya’s bedchamber, opening the door and allowing him inside. Silently, he carried the sleeping lady to the bed, a maid had been waiting inside the room already pulling down the sheets as he approached. Alarya did not wake as she was gently laid on the comfortable bed, the maid already pinning out all the jewels and hairpieces form her hair, and with a polite nod of his head he stepped out of the piece and into the elegant Sitting Room, Lord Lasgaer following closely behind. 

“Thank you for bringing her, my Lord.” The warrior said. Always that polite tone, as if he did not know how to address the Elvenking any longer. Thranduil simply nodded his head in return. 

“You are up early.” Was all he found himself able to say, not knowing how to address the warrior either. It was always the same thing, always the same issue. He was the warrior’s King and superior, but the Lord was Alarya’s father. 

“I never sleep for long.” The warrior answered as Thranduil slowly walked to the door, a small smile on the Lord’s face. “You should sleep too, my Lord.” 

The warrior’s voice was gentler, holding the door as Thranduil stepped into the corridor outside. A half-smile broke through the King’s lips. Sleep? He almost wanted to laugh. The day was already starting, and with it his duties lay already waiting for his presence. 

“I have a meeting in one hour.” He managed to say, and so his surprise the faintest of laughs escaped the serious warrior’s lips. 

“Well, then, have a good day, My Lord.” For the first time, the warrior’s voice did not carry a formal tone, even though he still addressed him in the formal way, but that was enough for him. Without another word, Thranduil simply nodded his head before turning around and making his way down the long deserted corridor and towards his own chambers. 

The way back to his quarters was nearly deserted, only a few elves crossing his path every now and then, and he absently acknowledged the greetings and bows he received as he walked. Once in the comfort of his overly large chambers, everything was as it usually greeted him every morning, the day just another one. His guards bowed respectfully before opening the large pairs of door for him to enter and inside the silver tray with his breakfast had already been delivered to the small table in the overly spacious antechamber. Galion, his butler, was dutifully standing quietly in a corner of the room, hands folded in front of him, as usual. 

“Good morning, Your Majesty.” The butler greeted, and he nodded his head in acknowledgement. “A bath has already been prepared for you.” 

“Thank you.” Was all he said, his tone once again that of a King, perfectly serene and composed as he walked straight towards the bathing room, carefully depositing his Crown on a small table on the way. 

His eyes drifted to the bed as he walked past it. As customary, his robes had already been laid out for him, the rich olive colored fabric contrasting beautifully against the wine red colored covers. He stopped for a second, his eyes seeming to consider the elegant garment for a short moment before reassuming his march towards the bathing chambers, his hand motioning almost lazily to the fine formal robes, seemingly cold and careless. 

“Make them blue.”


	14. Fear

The soft snow crunched underneath her feet as she walked, the fresh white powder caressing the end of her long winter cloak with a soothing hand, brushing away the trail of her footsteps. Tiny crystals of snow kept falling form the sky, dancing their way through the air until landing gracefully on the snow-covered grass, accumulating like white cotton blankets over the frozen branches of the peaceful trees or landing gently on her hair, shoulders and eyelashes. This one was a cold winter, a beautiful one, but a cold one. Men could not have survived the temperatures outside, and even the elves, much more resistant to the cold, had been forced to wear thicker garments than usual.

Her gloved hands tied her cloak closer to her body, snuggling deeper in the exquisite black scarf, made in the finest of wools that remained securely tightened around her pale thin neck. A sheepish smile grew on her lips as she was once again reminded that the scarf was not hers. It still smelled of Thranduil, of the wild and free smell of the forest, of the freshness and strength of the flowing river, of the gentleness and lightness of the soothing breeze. She had taken it from his chambers some hours ago, when she had gone looking for him but found him still at a meeting with someone she had forgotten then name of. The scarf had been lying there, on the back of an elegant chair by the grand fireplace, and she had decided that he would not miss the garment if it went missing for only some hours. Not that she did not have any of scarves of her own to wear. On the contrary, she had all too many scarves, of every color and form she could ever imagine, but her scarves did not carry his sweet scent. 

“Alarya, have you not been listening to what I have said?” 

Her cousin’s words brought her wondering thoughts back to the present, her eyes turning to meet those equal green of Aerdan, who walked next to her. Two of her maids followed closely behind her, Sidhel and a new one she did not quite remember the name of , walking behind her like quiet shadows and tending to her every need – even if she did not need anything. It had been a little over a month since the night of her engagement to the King of Mirkwood, and still she could not find it in herself to get used to the treatment she was receiving. Maids followed her day and night –until she would desperately dismiss them- lords and servants bowed respectfully at her presence, and if she ever wanted anything, anything, she only needed to ask for it and it was brought to her. Valar, she was not even Queen yet! It was maddening and frustrating! And yet, every single time her eyes fell on his ice blue irises, or his strong yet melodic voice sounded in her ear, or his lips met hers, she knew for sure that she would keep embracing the new attention and more, so long as that made her his. 

“I am sorry, Aerdan. What did you say?” She answered her cousin, her emerald eyes sparkling playfully as she unconsciously bit her lower lip, like a child caught doing mischief. 

 

Aerdan narrowed his eyes at her, an equally playful grin appearing on his face as he shook his head in fake resentment. 

“I am sorry!” She said again, her hand grabbing at his upper arm in an apologetic gesture, as light chuckles escaped her lips. “I heard the first four sentences, but then you kept and kept on going and I could not follow!” 

A handful of snow landed suddenly on her face, making her stop talking as a surprised squeal left her mouth, followed by her cousin’s musical laughter. 

“That is what you get for not listening to me when I speak, dearest cousin.” He said as she brushed the snow away from her face, joining in his laughter as she shook her head. She felt her cousin’s arm wrapping brotherly over her small shoulders.

“I will tell Thranduil.” She said teasingly, not really meaning any of her words, and to her surprise still saw the slightly uncomfortable look in her cousin’s eyes at her overly informal way of addressing the Elvenking. Nonetheless, de did not comment on it, simply following with their conversation as if she had used the word “King” before his name. 

“Of course.” His tone was teasing, his hand giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Go hide behind the King the way an elfling runs to his Nana.”

That made her laugh again, and still she did not miss the slightly uncomfortable way with which her cousin spoke of the King, as if he was not something he was used to spoke about casually. Alarya had been trying for her cousins to get comfortable with the idea of the Elvenking being around them, but it was definitely taking longer than she had anticipated. But she did not blame them, for her cousins, Thranduil was still their revered King and protector they admired and respected, not an elf they would casually and informally address in any way. Only her eldest cousin, Agoron, had ever interacted more than twice with the king, and seemed comfortable enough around him, but Aerdan and Anethor still remained with that same stunned look on their faces they had had when the King showed up at their Summer Solstice’s Celebration every time they saw him. 

“Are you nervous of being around him?” She asked teasingly, watching as her cousin’s eyes glared playfully at her momentarily. 

“I am not nervous about being around my King.” Aerdan said, his eyes speaking the contrary of his words, making her let out another round of chuckles. 

“Yes, you are.” She said again. 

“I am not.” He contradicted her once more as they continued their slow march trough the gardens and towards the Palace’s Main Courtyard where Thranduil, her parents and other cousins where probably already waiting along with the escort that would be accompanying them during their afternoon ride through the forest. 

“Do not worry, Aerdan. He will do nothing to you.” She reassured him, humoring herself at his uncomfortable state. It was about time she had something to tease her cousins about after so many years of finding herself at the receiving end of their pranks and games. “Not if you behave in the way he pleases of course.” 

“And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?” Her cousin’s voice sounded slightly annoyed, as if he had believed her words, and yet she had to fight to contain her laughter as she easily saw that he had believed her words. Oh Valar, she should not play with her cousin like that, but it was so hard to contain herself from doing so. 

“You know.” Se said in the most casual tone she could muster, as if it what she was about to say was common knowledge to every elf in the Greenwood. “Simply behave as everyone else does. You know, never touch him, never look into his eyes when he speaks to you and never speak to him without asking for permission first, always bowing deeply before talking.” 

Alarya knew her little prank would not work on any other of her cousins except for Aerdan, and part of her felt slightly guilty for what she was doing. Oh, who was she kidding, she was enjoying the situation thoroughly. Aerdan was the only one of her cousins who had never directly interacted with the King, and she decided that having a little fun could not be that bad. After all, she could write a book with all the pranks that this precise elf had pulled on her in past years. 

“You are teasing me.” Was her cousin’s reply, narrowing his emerald eyes at her, and yet she could see the new slight worry in those forest green irises, as if trying to decide whether or not she had been speaking the truth. 

She shrugged, the expression of her face a perfectly peaceful one, giving away no trace of mockery or guilt, nothing that would give away her prank as she stepped into the snow-covered clearing of the Main Courtyard, her eyes already falling on the group of elves already readying their horses for the ride. 

“Believe as you wish, dear cousin.” She said, her feet marching almost automatically into the courtyard as her eyes fell on one particular figure standing by a beautiful white horse. 

Thranduil’s ice blue eyes met hers in the distance, her heart instantly melting inside her chest, everything else around her seemingly forgotten as she made her way to him in long strides, her cloak dragging on the snow behind her. He wore a dark winter cloak, securely fastened with a gorgeous silver broach at his chest. His hair cascaded loosely down his back, the light blond strands contrasting beautifully with the dark wool of his cloak, the Crown of Mirkwood resting majestically atop his head, looking so royal, so powerful and imposing. 

“How was your meeting?” She asked, unable to look away from his sea colored eyes, as gentle as the summer sky, as cold as ice and at the same time burning as wildly as blue fire, swallowing her entirely. 

“Boring.” Was his answer, his lips pressing a light kiss to her cheek as his hand cupped her other cheek, sliding down her face until it fell on the scarf around her neck, trailing down the soft wool. 

“Why does this seem so familiar?” He asked, an eyebrow raised questioningly as his lips curved up in a gentle smile, the smile that could make her stomach flutter in delight. She simply smiled guiltily, perfectly aware that in no way was he angry at her for taking the garment without his consent. “Do you know that I had Galion look through my chambers for hours trying to find that precise scarf?”

For the first time a slight pang of guilt hit her stomach, imagining the poor butler trying to find a scarf that was most certainly not in the place he was looking. “Did you?” 

His smile widened in response, another gentle kiss landing on her cheek as she felt his arms lacing around her waist, his touch sending tremors down her body as always. 

“No, I did not.” He confessed. “I had not even noticed.” 

It was her turn to smile wider, watching out of the corner of her eyes as her parents stepped into the large courtyard, her father already mounting on his horse after helping her mother onto hers. 

“It looks good on you.” Thranduil continued, his hand resting on the small of her back as he started to lead her towards her own horse. “You may keep it if you want it.” 

Her heart fluttered again. Valar, how much she loved him. She only wished there were enough words in Arda to express just how much she loved him. 

“If I keep it, Thranduil, then it will stop being yours and it will loose its allure.” She explained, her heart delighting in the sound of the musical chuckle that left his flawless mouth. 

“As you wish.” He said as they reached the place where her horse stood, the guard holding onto the reins bowing respectfully at his King. 

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Aerdan finally joining them in the courtyard, bowing silently to the King in greeting before attempting to walk away, a thing that most certainty did not happen for Thranduil spoke before her cousin could turn and leave. 

“Good afternoon, Aerdan” The King greeted politely, his voice serene, nearly half a head taller than her cousin. Alarya had to make an astonishing effort not to laugh as her cousin suddenly looked down to the snow, remaining entirely silent. Thranduil looked puzzled for a moment, eyeing her cousin with strange interest, as if waiting for the elf to say or do anything. But Aerdan did not move, his eyes still looking at the snow. 

“Thank you for accompanying Alarya in her walk.” She heard Thranduil adding when her cousin did not say anything, ice blue eyes looking at the elf in question suspiciously, confused. Once again, Aerdan remained quiet, not lifting his eyes from the snow-covered grass ass she fought her urge to laugh. She did not know who looked more puzzled, if her cousin or the Elvenking who looked at Aerdan as if his behavior was the strangest he had seen in very long years.

“I trust you had a nice time?” The King tried again, one more rewarded by silence as her cousin did not dare to lift his eyes from the snow. She saw Thranduil’s own eyes look towards the snow, as if expecting to find something new and interesting there that could possibly be so appealing to her quiet cousin, only to lift back up again as he found nothing but fresh white snow. 

“Do you not speak?” Thranduil finally asked, his voice still perfectly calmed and patient, ice blue eyes still looking at her cousin confusedly. Aerdan’s green eyes lifted immediately at his King’s words, a new sudden realization appearing in his face as he looked at Thranduil’s puzzled expression. In a second, her cousin’s eyes flew to hers, glaring at her murderously, the expression of his face the one of someone who has suddenly realized they had been playing a trick on him. 

“Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Her cousin apologized, a smile that promised revenge now present on his lips, turning into an amused and defeated one as he turned to look at the King once more. “It seems my dear cousin has been playing a prank on me and I was foolish enough not to notice until now.” 

Thranduil’s eyebrow arched up questioningly, his eyes turning to look at her and she found it impossible to contain her chuckles from flowing freely out of her mouth, another guilty expression on her face. 

“If you would excuse me, my Lord, I will retire.” Her cousin continued, smiling in disbelief at his own stupidity for believing her. She knew she would be paying for it later, but Valar it had been entirely worth it. Then, her cousin’s eyes turned to her, narrowed in threat “And you, Alarya, better sleep with guards at your door tonight.” 

With that, her golden haired cousin walked away to join his brothers, still shaking his head and laughing lightly at his foolishness. Thranduil ha not said anything, simply looking at her questioningly, his eyes holding an expression that told her he would not even ask about it, one of his arms still laced around her small waist. 

“I do not know what is it that you did or said to him” The King started, his voice soft and amused, a small smile playing on his face as his ice blue eyes found hers once more “but I will thoroughly enjoy it if he gets back at you.” 

That made her laugh again, her face holding an expression of overly faked offense, a thing that immediately transformed into surprise as she felt his hands suddenly on her waist, lifting her without effort onto the back of her horse. One of his hands remained lightly on her knee, watching as a guard carefully handed her the reins before walking away to his own mount, climbing onto its back in a single swift graceful movement, every single movement entirely effortless, as natural and flawless as the forest around. She could feel the gentle hands of her maids arranging her cloak behind her, so that the rich fabric fell over the horse as well, and she tired her best to ignore it, simply sitting as tall and untroubled as always, her eyes never once leaving Thranduil’s figure. 

Before she could even notice, they were already slowly marching through the forest, the muffled sound of the many horseshows lading deeply on the powdered snow dancing like a soothing lullaby through the wind, bouncing on the labyrinth of frozen branches and crystalized leaves. She could hear gentle conversations moving around her, her cousins talking among them about the Valar knew what and she could faintly catch parts of a slightly forced conversation between Thranduil and her father a little distance before her, but she was not interested in paying attention. 

Her eyes continued to wonder through the forest, her mind not seeming to believe what she was seeing. She had seen many a winter, but she had never seen one as cold as this one, and yet, even in its bitter iciness the sights around her transformed into an enchanted view, almost seeming to mask away its deathly claws in a spectacle of white splendor. It was terrifying and yet beautiful, her eyes not seeming able to get enough of it. Long ice crystals hung from every branch above their heads, some thin and long other slightly shorter and thicker, marking the traces where a drop of water had died in ice on its way down to the grass. Every single branch was covered in white, the leaves hanging from them frozen into crystals of every color, some still brightly green, others golden and red, reflecting the distant rays of the sun in many shades of silver. 

“Beautiful, is it not?” Thranduil’s voice danced inside her head, and once again she felt the sudden warmth that always accompanied that sound. She would never get used to it. It had already been some time since their bond had become strong enough to allow them to communicate through their minds, and still every time she heard his strong calmed voice inside her head her heart fluttered like it had done the first time. 

“Yes.” Was all she able to answer, her eyes instantly turning to him, watching as a few tiny snowflakes landed smoothly on his long blond hair. “Have you ever seen a winter like this one?”

“No. Not like this one. It has frozen everything. It will be a long one.” His voice replied, once again sending her heart in a fist of flutters inside of her. 

“Men cannot survive this weather.” She heard her father’s voice adding softly, whether he was speaking to himself or to someone else, she could not tell. She could see her mother next to him, always so elegant, always so patient and calmed. 

“They are faring surprisingly well.” The King was the one to reply, his voice as serene as the endless whiteness that covered the forest. “They stay indoors day and night, and cities are overflowed with travelers and rangers caught up inside their doors, unable to leave.” 

She heard her father adding something else, but she did not quite catch what, her mind and eyes once gain lost in the white splendor around her, gently guiding her horse forward. She had always enjoyed the afternoon rides through the forest. They were always so peaceful, always so soothing to the mind. And yet this one was proving to be a sight to remember. Valar, how can something as cold and cruel as ice be so beautiful and enchanting? And yet, even as she marched in gentle silence, attempting to memorize the gorgeous images of the frozen forest inside her head, part of her could not wait to return to the warmth of the Palace, to the welcoming fires that she knew would burn in Thranduil’s chambers, to his strong pair of arms wrapped around her small body as they sat by the roaring flames, to her delicate fingers sliding gently down his long silken hair.

She did not know for how long they had been riding, but her mind was abruptly brought back from her wondering thoughts as Thranduil suddenly halted, his hand held up in silent command. Every elf stopped in unison, confused eyes turning from one side to the other, as if trying to figure out what was happening. Her eyes looked around her, confusion taking hold of her, her hands automatically sending her horse into a complete stop. 

“My Lord?” One of the guards closer to Thranduil said, but the Elvenking held up his palm again in a silencing gesture, his movement so graceful weightless, and yet not a single elf dared to question his authority, to disobey his silent command. 

The King’s watchful eyes looked carefully to the forest around them, concentrated, as if looking for something specifically, his expression suddenly alert. She could see the guards doing the same around her, as trying to understand what it was that had suddenly alerted their King but finding nothing. She could feel her heart drumming inside her chest, her eyes fixed on Thranduil, unable to understand, just waiting, waiting for she did not know what. She knew that Thranduil would not stop for a false alarm. There were no false alarms with him. But still she did not understand, she could not comprehend. The forest had gone quiet around them. Far too quiet, a blank white emptiness watching them from all around, devoid of even the slightest breeze. 

As silently as the forest, the Elvenking signaled to two of the guards with a weightless movement of the hand and immediately she saw the two elves in question jump onto the branches high above, disappearing through them with the ease and silence of the wood elves. Her heart raced, even her breathing suddenly feeling too loud for her. Something was amiss. She could not tell what, could not even notice, but she only needed to look at Thranduil to understand. Something was definitely amiss. The King’s hand had travelled to the hilt of his sword, as if ready to draw it out, ice blue eyes scanning the forest around. 

And then, she felt it. That sudden need to run, the sensation that told her of danger as the forest suddenly cried a warning around them, a warning that Thranduil seemed to have aught way before all of the elves did. The need to run was stronger than her, her body swamped by the sudden urge to follow the forest’s advise, and yet she did not move, paralyzed on her horse, eyes fixed on the King. 

In a swift motion, too fast for her to even notice, Thranduil had drawn his sword, all the other elves imitating him almost instantly, all of them now finally aware to the forest’s warnings, some guards already closing up around their King, ready to protect him. But she did not believe he needed protection. Suddenly, every elf seemed to looking at the King, waiting for his orders, watching intently, and in that second she knew that every single one of the elves around them would follow him blindly. She had never seen him armed, never seen him even sparring before, and suddenly, as he watched around him in concentration, sword safely held in hand, she was sure he had never looked so powerful and at the same time so dangerous. 

“Cunir” The Elvenking suddenly spoke, the captain and advisor in question instantly moving his horse up to his King, waiting for his orders. “Take Ladies Alarya and Laessel back to the Palace.” 

Her heart only raced faster as the elves around her moved with the new command, her mind not even understanding what was happening as a guard was already reaching for the reins of her horse from his own mount, turning her horse around in a haste. Fear consumed her more that before. Why was Thranduil sending them back to the Palace? What was amiss? 

Then, everything happened so fast she could not even register half of it. A black arrow flew through the air, lodging itself on the shoulder of one of the guards, sending the elf backwards off his horse. A silent cry left her lips, arrows starting to fly from the trees all around them, from the arches that the King had sent up the branches. She felt the guard holding the reins of her horse push her mount back inside the circle of guards. Elves moved all around, more black arrows flying in their direction. It was too late to go back to the Palace now. 

Before she could even know what was happening, high pitch cries cut through the air, the blood-curling sound freezing her veins inside of her. She did not know what to do. Orcs were upon them in mere seconds, swords meeting swords in endless cries of metal hitting metal. They seemed to be coming from everywhere, jumping to them from all around them, guards rushing to meet them with their swords as others simply circled closer around her. She let out another cry, one that went drowned by the sounds of the battle around her as she pressed her body to the neck of her horse, narrowly missing an arrow that had gone flying her way. She could not see straight what was happening around her, the elves and orcs moved too fast, guards surrounding her from all sides. 

“My Lady!” She could hear one guard screaming, his quick hand holding for the reins of her horse, attempting to maneuver her out of the heart of the battle. Out of the corner of her eyes she could see Thranduil jumping in front of her mother, who had fallen to the ground, holding the Lady to him with one hand as with the other fought every orc that went their way, tryng to move her mother out of the battle. Her father was some distance away from them, caught up with three more orcs to himself. 

She had not time to think as a sudden arrow flew in front of her horse, missing it by inches. The animal jumped on its rear legs without advise, sending rolling to the snow, her hands covering the back of her head to avoid getting hit by the many horseshoes running widely around her, the rider-less horses fleeing the battlefield. Fear felt more powerful than ever as she rolled to her side, trying to jump back to her feet. 

“Alarya!” She heard Thranduil’s voice yelling, her frightened eyes barely catching sight of him trying to reach her side, stopped by the many orcs that kept jumping on him. Her mother was crawled upon herself on the snow, pressing her body to a thick tree trunk behind Thranduil, seeming to paralyzed. She could see Thranduil desperately trying to get her to move whenever he was spared a second, but her mother seemed frozen in fear. There were so many orcs. So many. 

She crawled on the snow, trying desperately to get out of the middle of the battle as the elves and orcs slammed against each other around her. A hand circled around her upper arm, yanking her to her feet as another arm pressed her tightly to a body, a sword slashing across her line of vision as it landed on an orc right before her. She barely had time to register that it was her cousin Agoron the one holding her, moving across the fighting figures. The battle seemed to be spreading, wherever she ran more orcs and elves followed. 

A sudden frightened scream from her mother make her eyes fly in her direction fear burning inside her veins as she saw one of the fowl creatures swing its black ended sword in her mother’s direction. Thranduil was quicker, jumping in front of the paralyzed Lady before the orc could even notice. However, in the spare second that it took the King to block the fatal blow directed at her mother, another blow landed on him. She felt herself scream, her throat feeling raw with the sound that went deaf in the roaring battle as she saw the blackened sword landing brutally over Thranduil’s left shoulder, the blow hard enough to easily break the collarbone. Thranduil, however, did not even flinch in pain, turning quicker than the orc could have ever predicted, his own sword cutting to the repulsing creature in a move so fast she was not even sure she saw. 

Another frightened cry escaped her lips as she felt herself fall again harshly onto the snow, her cousin now fighting two more orcs that had caught up with them. Fear was more powerful than ever, slowly consuming her, driving her mind into despair. She had never been in battle. Never. She could feel her body going into hysterics, her eyes shedding tears that she could not even feel, could not even notice sliding down her cheeks. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, making her jump to her feet, trying to flee the scene, eyes desperately searching for Thranduil. 

“Alarya!” She could see the King’s ice blue eyes finding hers easily, trying to reach her side, but the task seemed to be proving impossible. More and more orcs kept jumping upon him by the second, the battle separating them even as she saw him desperately trying to work his way to where she lay. 

And she ran, trying to escape this living hell of blood and cries around her. She ran. Her feet lead her through the snow-covered forest as fast as she could, running through the fighting figures and deeper into the forest. 

“Alarya!” She could hear Thrandiul’s desperate cries behind her, but she could not stop her feet. “ALARYA! COME BACK! ALARYA!” 

But she could not go back, her feet feeling unstoppable, feeling it was hard to breathe as she ran, her heart racing widely. She could not go back to that hell, to that mass of fighting bodies. But where was she running to? To safety? 

She had not even run for a minute when an orc jumped in her way, an arrow flying by her ear as she let out another cry of terror. She looked around her, not stopping her run, her heart giving a wild jump inside her, adrenaline rushing faster than ever through her. She was surrounded. More orcs kept coming from the forest and for a second she wished she had stayed in the battle. At least there were elves that could protect her, that could fight the orcs. One single look back confirmed her fears. She was too far away from the battle to make it back safely. There was only one way out. Run. 

The orcs were more than her, closer than she had anticipated, and before she could know it she was thrown face down onto the snow, two of the fowl creatures pinning her by the arms as she screamed and trashed around, trying to free herself from their sharp claws, their poisonous grip that she could feel cutting through her skin. Something cold and sharp pressed against her neck, her breath now coming out in trembling gasps. Valar, she had never been so scared in her life. 

“What’s a littl’ Lady doin’ out ‘ere?” One of the creatures snarled on her ear, the sound of its voice sending shivers down her body, freezing her blood inside her veins in fear and repulsion. A knot on her throat made it impossible to breathe, tears sliding hysterically down her cheeks. 

“Slice ‘er pretty throat!” She heard another yell, followed by another growl “Eat ‘her alive!” 

Then, something else seemed to catch the orcs attention, disturbing their discussion, but she had not time to figure out what it was as she heard them battling once again, metal hitting metal. The second the blade had been removed from her neck she kicked and punch, managing to free herself from the cutting claws, feeling the skin on her arms becoming raw as they pulled harder at her, cutting away parts of her flesh as she yanked away from them, jumping to her feet which had started to run again, only to trip on a dead orc and fall again on the cold snow. 

An arm suddenly wrapped around her, forcefully pressing her against a warm body, and she kicked again, only to find the arms holding her tightly, a sword hitting every orc that came near her. It took her a second to recognize the familiar presence next to her, the protective arms holding tighter than ever, the feeling of security as fear spread like venom through her body. Thranduil. 

Almost automatically she clung to him, her hands curling onto his cloak as if her life depended on it, pressing herself closer to his chest in despair. Something wet and sticky met her hands as she pressed herself to his left shoulder, her heart racing even faster at the realization. Blood. But the King did not seem to be feeling any pain, using his left arms just as easily and strongly as he used his right. 

Orcs kept flying upon them, and Thranduil fought them one by one as he led them away, running through the forest in an attempt to escape. For a second she though that he would bring them both back to the heart of the battle, to where the other guards and the rest of her family remained, but he was leading her the opposite direction, away from the orcs. And then she understood. There was no way back. If they attempted to get back to the rest of the elves that would mean to go back to the orcs. There was simply forward. 

Thranduil dashed through the forest, dashing left and right with an incredible ease, seeming to know where every single tree was, every branch. But more orcs kept appearing, meeting Thranduil’s sword in the way. She had her eyes closed tightly, her fingers gripping at his cloak so tightly that she wondered if she would make holes through the fabric. 

Then, another one of the fowl creatures smashed against Thranduil, sending them both rolling through the snow, his arms letting go of her in order to fight the orc now over him. She did not know what to do. More orcs were approaching. There was no way out. 

“Alarya, run!” She heard Thranduil yell at her as he got rid of the orc on top of him, only to find two more already clashing their swords with his. She stood there, paralyzed, watching. “RUN!” 

And she did, or she would have had it not been for an orc that suddenly slammed against her, the force sending her backwards. She lost her footing, her feet suddenly finding an edge she did not know had been there in the first place, and she felt herself falling, the orc letting out a blood-curling cry as it fell along with her. She felt herself falling, falling down an abyss, Thranduil’s scarf around her neck flying away in the wind, her cry of fright dying at her throat, her back sinking into the depths of the raging river, the cold water cutting her body like daggers, running too fast and harshly to freeze into ice, puling her under, under until she could no longer see the surface, Thranduil’s cry still ringing in her ears. 

“ALARYA!”


	15. Pain

The King of Mirkwood felt time stop right before his eyes, his desperate cry bouncing on the thick and iced tree trunks and cutting through the freezing air but his ears did not hear it. In a split second his blood grew cold inside his veins, as frozen as the cruel winter around him as he watched Alarya fall, her small body swallowed by the traitorous grasp of the raging river below, the iced waters crushing her, brutally pulling her away from his view, down, always down into their blackened abyss. 

Fear raced through his body, clouding his senses, burning through him like seething fire until he felt like he was about to go insane. Everything else seemed to disappear at that moment. He could see the snow around him, but could not feel its cold, could see his sword suddenly slaying through the two remaining orcs around but his mind did not register it. Everything was an incoherent blur, the only concrete thing was the fear pumping through his heart, keeping him more alive than blood. He could feel the burning pain on his left shoulder, stinging like fiery blades, could feel the oozing warm blood sliding down from the wound, staining his tunic and heavy cloak, could feel the sharp shards of his broken collarbone sticking out of his skin. But at that moment none of that mattered to him, his overwhelming fear making it all seem so unimportant. 

Almost instantly he ran to the edge of the small cliff, his eyes desperately searching through the surface of the angry current, hoping against hope that he would see Alarya’s head somewhere, but he knew he was looking in vain. He knew the strength of the river, knew the power of its current, the heavy pressure of its waters. Jumping into it was nearly certain suicide, but his mind did not even stop to think about it. No. He needed to find her, needed to pull her out or die in the process. Every breath he took was a breath she was missing. And then, almost by some miracle Valar, Alarya’s head broke the raging surface, gasping for breath as water filtered down her nose and mouth. His slight relief vanished a fragment of a second after as he saw the orc who had pushed her breaking the surface as well, its clawed hands splashing widely around its grotesque body, madly attempting to keep its nauseating head above the water. His heart stopped as the creature pulled at Alarya, sending them both underwater, the massive current swallowing them again, dragging them deeper and farther away from his sight. 

He did not think it twice. No. In fact, he was not even sure he had thought it at all. In a split second he had already jumped after them, adrenaline and fear filling his body with a strength he knew he did not have. Cold water crushed him in its cruel grasp, the current pulling at him with a force larger than he had anticipated. The iced temperature seemed to apply infinite pressure on his lungs and chest, making it harder to hold his breath, feeling like cold daggers cutting through his skin, crushing him under its weight, pulling him farther down. He tried desperately to reach the surface, but a for a long moment he could not tell what was up and what was down, the merciless current dragging him in circles, slamming him like a puppet against the rocks. And yet, his mind only had one thought: Alarya. He needed to reach Alarya. Needed to pull her out, to get her to safety. 

Unexpectedly, his head broke through the surface, his body automatically gasping for a much needed breath before the current pulled him down once more, water filling his lungs as he tried to breath again. With another effort he pushed up again, his shoulder protesting in searing pain, making him bite down a scream as he took another large breath, allowing the water to pull him under once more. This time, instead of fighting the current, he pushed along with it, eyes desperately trying to find Alarya, but he could see nothing in the strong current, his legs kicking as hard as he could, pushing him even further down. 

He could hear the river’s cry ringing in his ears, the unforgiving waters knowing it was he the one fighting through its current. He could feel its powerful strength trying to help him, trying to be gentler, to not drown him, but the river could not stop its course, could not stop its strength. A large rock slammed against his injured shoulder, the unbearable pain making him release the breath he had been holding, as his good arm automatically pushed him up to the surface. Once more, he gasped for breath, eyes shut tight against the agonizing pain in his left shoulder, more water sliding down his throat as he attempted to breath. For a moment, the pain made him forget everything, feeling as if he was going to be sick, black spots dancing in his vision. But the water would show no mercy to him, pulling him down once more, and down he went, kicking his legs as hard as his aching muscles would take him, desperately searching for Alarya. 

The pressure and strength of the crushing waves sent him rolling a couple of times, his body hitting yet more rocks in the process, his back a sides already aching with the force of the blows, but he did not stop. He kept going down, and the farther down he went the harder it was to go back up. His lungs demanded air, pleaded for him to take one breath, but he kept swimming. If he went back up his chances of finding Alarya alive were slimmer. He could not risk it. He knew she was down somewhere. He could hear the cries of the river, guiding him, telling to keep going, even if its waters showed no mercy to him. His chest burned with the need or air, but he ignored it, eyes trying to see something, anything, through the wild current. 

And then he saw her. He saw her floating seemingly lifelessly through the trapping waters, her body nearly touching the sandy bottom of the deep river. The orc was nowhere to be seen, the current probably having already dragged it to its death. Fear paralyzed his heart, his arms immediately reaching out for her, pressing her small body as tight as he could to his, hunching his own body protectively around her as the current kept dragging them forward, trying as hard as he could to shield her form the blow of the occasional rocks. His left shoulder protested painfully, the agonizing pain as he used his arm to hold onto Alarya making want to scream. 

He needed to get them both to the surface, but the more he fought the current them more it pulled him down in wild circles. He could not control the wait his body was pushed like a ragged puppet through the monstrous current, his legs kicking in vain to get him back up. And yet, all he could think of, all his mind could concentrate on was one Alarya’s frail limp body on his arms, pressed as close and tightly to him as he could. And he continued to kick, using his good arm in an attempt to reach the seemingly unreachable surface, feeling as his lungs ran out of air, his body quickly running out of strength. The water felt colder than ever, crushing him in its imprisoning grasp. He could still hear the desperate and loud cries of the river in his ear, trying to help him, but the strength of its current would not bend and calling upon his powers was a lost cause at the moment. He would not be able to control such a force as the river in his current state, he was too weak to even try. 

Thranduil was barely aware of another large rock hitting brutally his right side, crashing onto his ribs, his body turning just in time to shield Alarya from the blow, feeling as the little air that remained inside his lungs was suddenly expelled from the force of the collision. Pain seemed to fill every single one of his senses, his shoulder seeming to be on fire underneath this cold icy water, the muscles on his legs and good arm burned with exertion, and his lungs demanded him for air, stinging inside him, forcing to take one breath, just one. But he could not. They would drown. That of course if Alarya was still alive. No. He could not think about that. He forced his thoughts in a different direction, the sole possibility that the precious body he was holding tightly to him might be that, only a body, made his worst of fears come to life. Alarya was still alive. She needed to be alive. 

And then, as if awarding him the slightest of respites, when he thought he would surely drown, the current pulled him back up, his face breaking the surface for a split second. Immediately he gasped for air, water smashing into his eyes, filling his nose and mouth and filtering into his lungs until he found himself coughing desperately. Immediately and using every single bit of strength he could muster, he pulled Alarya’s head over the surface, trying to keep her afloat even as the strength of the river pulled down once more, making him fight hard for a second intake of breath. He could not tell how far along had the river already dragged them, or how far they were now from the Palace, but that did not matter at the moment. 

A blinding, agonizing pain suddenly exploded in his right knee as his body was mercilessly slammed against one of the largest rocks. He would have cried out had he had enough air in his lungs or had his throat not been as raw as it was with the amount of water that he had already swallowed. He immediately felt dizzy, consciousness threatening to slip from him as the pain rippled al through his right leg, spreading like burning venom. He tried to kick his legs again, to keep them both afloat, but the second he attempted to move his right leg, the searing pain returned, only making swallow more water as a scream was muted in the raging waters. 

He lost track of time, not knowing for how long he remained prisoner of the current, fighting with strength he no longer had, ignoring the shaper pain radiating from his shoulder and leg, doing anything in his power to keep Alarya’s head above the surface. And then he felt it. The current suddenly pushed him to one side, its force as overwhelming and uncontrollable as ever, the river crying loudly as it tried to push him to one side of its current, to its bank. He knew the river could not be any gentler, but even its raging waters were trying with all their might to get him to safety, and he seized his chance. 

Using all the strength he had left in him he grip to one of the rocks protruding over the surface, his hand nearly sliding through its slimy surface, sharp ends incrusting in his palm, but he did not care. He held on for his life. No. He held on for Alarya’s life, his left shoulder protesting in agony as he used that arm to keep her frail body securely pressed to his. Water kept splashing fiercely on his face, filtering into his mouth and nose, making him cough once more, threatening to drag him along with him once more, but he held on, fighting even as his body demanded him rest, demanded him to let go. He could still feel the blood quickly leaving his body through the wound in his shoulder, every single one of his limbs feeling increasingly weaker by the second. It was only a matter of time until unconsciousness would finally claim him into its dark abyss, but he could not let that happen. He needed to take Alarya to safety, to get her out of these overpowering waters. 

Suddenly, a stronger wake slammed to him, violently ripping him from his safe spot. He tried to hold onto the rock, using every single bit of strength he could yet muster, but he was not strong enough. The raging water pushed him down once more, swiftly dragging him down river again, even as he tried desperately to reach the rock once more, to hold onto something, anything, but there was nothing, only water, water rolling around in wild circles, the river crying in its attempt to help him even if it could not control the force of its torrent. Everything ached, his entire body seeming to be on fire, and yet he did not let go of Alarya. He concentrated on keeping her body as tightly pressed to his as he could, of not loosing her to the grasp of the river that threatened to pull her away from him, fighting and fighting to keep both their heads above water, more of the cold liquid sliding down his throat. He felt weak, strength draining form his body at an alarming rate, he kept his eyes open but the images started to blur together in an incoherent haze, the sounds appearing and disappearing in turns. But he could not let go of Alarya. He needed to remain awake, needed to find a way out of this crushing torrent. 

And then, when eh felt he could not longer fight, when his body lacked the strength to even stay afloat, muscles protesting at his abuse of them, he felt the powerful torrent push him forcefully once more, dragging him down a path that bifurcated to one side, pulling him away from the powerful current and throwing him into a more peaceful stream, its cries ringing in his ears as it helped him through, pushing him and pushing him until he had nearly reached the shore. In this part of the river, the current was increasingly mellower, making him able to gather what strength he had left in him and with an outstanding effort swim to the sore, his heart beating in relief as his left leg came in contact with the many tiny rocks that composed the smooth seemingly flat bottom. 

With a great deal of effort, he pulled Alarya up to the shore, ever so gently depositing her limp body up on the snow-covered grass, praying to the Valar for her to take a breath, to open her gorgeous emerald eyes. And then, almost urgently in his attempt to get to her side, he tried to stand up, to pull himself out of the water and into the shore next to Alarya. But the moment he put any weight, even under the water, on his right leg, the flare of blinding pain sent him below the surface once more, his injured knew buckling instantly and he lay there, underneath he crushing peaceful cold water, pain blinding his every sense for a long moment until he was able to push his head up the surface once more. He could not give up now. Not so close to the shore. It took him an alarming amount of effort to carefully maneuver his body of the shore, using only his right arm and left leg, keeping his injured arm close to his torso. 

He fell onto his back on the snow, the white crystals suddenly feeling alarmingly cold, his body weak to a point until it became susceptible to the freezing temperatures as he coughed up water, gasping for air between coughs, his throat feeling raw and painful. His entire body ached, his mind desperate to succumb to his exhaustion, to rest there where he was, to not move once more and freely welcome the grasp of the darkness that threatened to claim him. But another pull was stronger that the relief of the soothing darkness, another thing kept him fighting to stay awake, acting against his body’s protests and sharp flares of pain. Alarya. He needed to make sure she was alive. Needed to make sure she was safe. 

Biting back down a cry of pain, he crawl to where her small body lay motionlessly on the snow, his heart skipping a beat at her alarmingly pale skin and blue tint of her lips, his head already imagining the worst. Immediately, he took his hands to her chest, pressing until her eyes suddenly fluttered open, her body instantly coughing water. The greatest relief he had ever felt invaded his every sense, his arms automatically helping her onto her side, his good hand rubbing soothing circles on her delicate back as her body heaved, expelling all the water she had swallowed. She was shaking violently, her thin body collapsing back in wracking tremors against his chest after a while, her breathing coming out in ragged gasps. He could feel her fear, her shock, her overwhelming terror at the event of the past hours and his arms immediately wrapped around her, ignoring the flare of pain in his injured shoulder. His need to hold her close was stronger, his mind nearly going insane at the sight of her shaking figure, of the way in which her delicate and alarmingly clod fingers suddenly gripped to him as if she would die if she let go. Uncontrollable sobs wracked her body, in too much of a shock to control herself, her face buried deeply against his chest. Thank the Valar she was alive. She was alive. 

And yet, a poisonous rage flared through his veins at the sight of her scratched arms, her flawless porcelain skin now corrupted by pink slashes, some of them bleeding slightly, other already bruising in a dark purplish color. She did not seem to even have noticed the scratches, and yet the sole sight of wounds- even if they were merely the smallest- on her skin made his blood boil in anger, and it tormented him to think that those scratches were not accidents, no, they were purposely inflicted, and it scared him deeply to think of what could have happened had he not reached her in time to rip the orc’s claws from her body. 

His hand continued to rub at her back, a new wave of dizziness and disorientation suddenly hitting him fiercely, but he did not show it, simply holding her close to him, trying to calm her down, to ease some of her fears. But he knew his hold would not be enough. He knew she had never witness a battle before, let alone find herself in the middle of one. She was too shaken up. He silently thank the Valar for his soaked cloak hiding the wound in his shoulder form her view, he knew it would not be a pretty sight. They needed to get back to the Palace, or at least find shelter here in the forest, but he could not gather himself to move. His body felt frozen in its place, moving requiring an effort he did not have to strength to carry on with, darkness already creeping in from the edges of his sight. 

He felt Alarya shifting in his arms, her hands lacing around his neck in despair and he was unable to hold back a gasp of pain as her hand came in contact with his broken collarbone and injured shoulder. Neither his body nor his mind had the strength to hold back his pained reaction any longer, Alarya suddenly tensed in his arms, her gorgeous face instantly lifting from her hiding place, wide and frightened emerald eyes flying to meet his. 

“Thranduil?” Her musical voice was hoarse and shaky, her long golden hair sticking to her beautiful figure, dripping water that turned into ice before hitting the snowy ground. He could see the alarm in her forest color eyes as they dropped to his shoulder, unable to see the wound through his cloak. More that anything he wanted to tell her he was fine, but words would not come to him, her face coming in and out of focus before his eyes, everything else seeming to spin. He could barely feel the warm thick blood freshly slipping down his shoulder, caressing him with a tickling sensation, but it felt so far away. Everything felt far away, the sounds, the smells, even the cold snow underneath him. 

He was partially aware of her shaking ice fingers reaching up to his cloak, gently starting to lift the freezing garment, but he stopped her hand with a trembling one of his own, concentrating to focus his eyes once hers. 

“Don’t” He managed to breath out, not wanting her to see the injury, knowing very well what it was that she would find underneath the thick cloak. 

Alarya did not seem to listen to him, the worry in her eyes seeming to drive her actions, and he was only able to look away as he felt her shaking hand gently lifting the garment, not even brushing his skin. He wanted to stop her once more, to hide her face in his chest and shield her from the sight she was about to see, but another wave of dizziness hit him, stronger than the first. He heard her gasp and let out a frightened, weak cry, her eyes flying to his face, but he was unable to say anything. A wave of nausea invaded hi body at the coppery smell of his own blood. Or was it because of exhaustion and blood-loss? He could not tell. Everything felt like a blurry haze to him. He had lost far too much blood. 

“Thranduil?” Alarya’s voice sounded urgent, but it felt so far away. He strained to reach her voice, to focus on her eyes, but his entire vision was cloudy. He swayed. “Thranduil!” 

But he heard no more, darkness already clouding his vision as he felt consciousness leave him, the last thing he was aware of was the distant sound of horseshoes brushing on the snow, and the hazy contours of tall and graceful figures suddenly appearing through the forest, yelling something, although he could not understand what, rushing to where he and Alarya lay, and then everything went black. 

His next hours were spent in a blurry haze of pain and distant sounds, everything merging together as he slipped in and out of consciousness. His shoulder and knee throbbed painfully and every single one of his muscles ached. He was barely aware of the gentle rocking of a horse underneath him, new pain flaring over his injured knee with every swaying step the horse took. There was an arm holding him from behind, preventing his body from slipping down of the horse, but it felt too distant to him. He was barely aware of other elves riding to his sides. 

“Rest, my Lord. You are safe.” A voice added from behind him as darkness started to claim him once more, numbness filling his body. He knew that voice. It was Lasgaer. And then darkness swallowed him once more. 

He was only barely aware of arms carrying him, or was it his imagination? He could hear voices around, but could not catch anything they said, and then he was lying on something soft, blurred and unfocused figures hovering over him. He could hear their voices, ever so distant, ever so unreachable. They were speaking to him but he could not understand… “…My King....too much blood…give him….” He could only catch pieces and fragments of phrases. 

And then the pain in his shoulder abruptly multiplied tenfold, suddenly flaring all too vividly for him, making him wide alert once more as he arched his back as he violently tried to release himself from the hands suddenly pressed to the injury, holding the shards of bone into place. He bit his lip hard, feeling blood flowing into his mouth as a pained groan reached his ears. Had he produced the sound? 

“My Lord, stop moving! You will further injure yourself!” Someone kept repeating frantically, but the pain was too intense for him to listen, his eyes falling on the figures of healers holding him down while another tried to reset his bones. He continued to kick and trash, doing anything in his power to escape the hands that were only causing more pain, even if in the back of his mind reason told him to lay still, to let the healers help him. More voices kept yelling things, giving away instructions, but he was not listening to them. 

“Where is the pain draught?” Another healer asked urgently, eyes looking at another group of healers mixing some herbs at a nearby table. Once again, everything seemed to blur together, the pain only increasing, keeping him awake with its searing agony. He could hear someone yelling Alarya’s name, and his head turned immediately in the direction of the healer’s voice, his ice blue eyes landing on Alarya’s petrified figure standing next to the bed upon which he lay, a safe distance away. She seemed unharmed, simply looked, her emerald eyes looking shocked, frightened. The healer’s kept saying something to her, but Alarya would not move, would not react. 

“My Lady!” A healer exclaimed expectantly, as if trying to get a reaction out of her. “My Lady, the pain will not stop. He needs you.” 

But Alarya did not move. Her large green eyes remained fixed on him, frightened, vacant, her cheeks stained with the traces of tears she did not seem to feel sliding down. Slowly she shook her head. 

“My Lady!” The healer pressed again, but his voice was blurred away as pressure upon his shoulder increased and he once again arched his back in pain, holding back a cry that threatened to tear through his lips. Another healer yelled at Alarya again and his eyes desperately landed on her once more, using her gorgeous face and endless eyes as a distraction, as an anchor point away form the burning fire on his shoulder and leg. 

And then, as if blind and deaf to her surroundings, Alarya turned around. Pain blinded his senses, ran through his body like poisonous fire, and yet everything else seemed to stop as his eyes caught her body slowly giving her back to him, gently, ever so gently, walking to the door, every step so graceful, as if in a daze. And then, as simple as that she walked away, his eyes staring vacantly at the door as it clicked shut behind her small frame, staring at the spot on which she had disappeared from his view. He did not know what he felt. Pain? Yes he felt pain. Pain seemed to be everything he felt at the moment. But this pain could not even begin to be compared to the pain flaring on his injuries. No. This pain was inside of him. A feeling strange to him, crushing his heart filling with so much pain that it angered him. Another hand pressed suddenly to his shoulder, the bones snapping together into place, the pain boosting up like a newly lit torch, suddenly engulfing all of his mind, all of his thoughts, and then, in a welcoming second everything turned black…


	16. Regrets

Her soundless footsteps bounced on the infinitely expanding walls of the long hallway, the sound like a hollow cry on an endless void, so cold, so empty. Her heart drummed widely inside her chest, as if threatening to jump out. Everything felt blurry, distant, as in a dream. She could see distorted shapes around her, moving like fog, healers rushing in the opposite direction she was going, hurrying into the room she had just left. She could feel a tight knot on her throat, so tight it was hard to breathe, absently aware of the way in which her hands trembled, of the way in which her eyes remained wide with shock. Her feet seemed to walk on their own, taking her at a fast pace to a destination she ignored. 

Only one though populated her mind, consuming everything around her like vicious fire: she had left. She had walked away. And yet, she could not gather herself to return, she could not control her feet form walking. The image of Thranduil’s broken body lying on the bed remained vivid before her eyes his blood staining the white silken sheets at an alarming pace, healers hovering over him as his flawless face scrunched tightly in agony, trying desperately to escape the hands that held him still. She could still see the bones sticking out of his shoulder, his skin overly pale and clammy as his body trembled violently, his knee bend at a disturbing angle, making her feel sick. She could not get it out of her head, forever engraved like a haunting nightmare, ready to return to terrorize her with its imprisoning claws in the darkness of the night. And yet it merged with another image inside her head, a repressed memory that just now resurfaced to haunt, where Thranduil’s face as he writhed in agony morphed into another very familiar face, holding that same pained expression, delicate features contorted in between screams, bright green eyes, so like her very own, flashing in her direction, wide and frightened, dying. And she felt like screaming, like dropping on the floor and crashing into pieces, no longer able to escape the image of Thranduil’s blood staining almost every surface, nor the image of her own brother’s eyes clouding with death as he left this world so many years ago. 

Part of her mind had yelled at her to stay, to run to Thranduil, to distract him, and yet she had ran away. Every other instinct had told her to run away, her body unable to refuse the urge. She could not face it. She could not see him like that. She had to leave. It was her fault. That sole thought bounced inside her mind like a poisonous ghost, murmuring the same words over and over again until she found her hands gripping her ears as if trying to block out the sound. It was her fault. He had dived after her. He had been trying to save her. It should have been her in that bed, not him. 

Everything seemed to merge together inside her mind, the seconds fusing with the hours, the sounds swirling together with the unfocused images until she was unable to keep track of time, of how long she had walked on where she was headed. Someone had said something to her on the way, or had she imagined it? Her body would not respond, her mind lost in the all too fresh memories of high-pitched cries and clashing swords, of the pressure of iced water cutting through her skin like daggers, pulling her into an inescapable abyss. 

Alarya blinked once. For the first time she noticed everything was quiet. Her forest green eyes scanned the space around her as if suddenly noticing where her feet had taken her. The endless sleeping gardens extended vastly before her eyes, underneath a silent dark blue sky. She was in a terrace. The terrace. The one in which she would usually come with Thranduil alone. Night had already fallen outside, its cold serenity filling her with numbing emptiness. 

She had left Thranduil. She had walked away. It was her fault. And she had not even helped in fixing things now. 

The thought downed on her like iced water, the realization suddenly rushing through her body, constricting her chest with an overwhelming sensation she could not quite place, making it hard to breathe, hard to concentrate. She stood there, shocked, unable to move, unable to react as the most overwhelming guilt and regret she had ever felt consumed her every thought, braced her trembling body in its clenching cold grasp. She felt like choking, like hiding, like disappearing into the endlessness of the night. She felt shame. Shame caressing her with its mocking lover’s embrace. Valar, why had she left? Why had she not been able to stay? She had though herself to be stronger, and yet, she had failed when the moment to prove it came. 

The snow continued to dance down in the air, like thousands of thick glittering stars against the dark veil of the night. She felt just like them, frail and weak, floating at the mercy of the wind to define her course, cold and unfeeling. And yet, more than anything she wanted to run back to Thranduil and at the same time, the memory of the pained look in his eyes frightened her more than anything. 

“My Lady?” 

The soft female voice caught her out of guard, making her head turn in the direction of the sound, her wondering mind suddenly returning to her senses. Her eyes easily landed on the slim figure of a she-elf she did not know. She was tall, and a healer, judging by her clothes. Honey colored eyes remained fixed on her, soft and silent, the expression on her face one that resembled pity, and Alarya suddenly hated her, hated her gentle eyes and musical voice, her warm and welcoming posture, her kind smile and open eyes as she slowly approached. She did not want anyone to take care of her, did not want anyone comforting her, making her feel better and pampering her. Could this lady not see that she had just left Thranduil alone to his suffering? Could this lady not see that she was so selfish she could not even offer her presence when Thranduil needed it? When his injuries were the cost of saving her life? When it had been all because of her? 

“All is well, my Lady.” The healer lady gently took Alarya’s hands on her own, her touch so careful, offering her a comforting sad smile, but Alarya was not able to return the gesture, simply allowing the lady to lead her back inside the Palace at a gentle pace. 

Guilt and self-loathing built inside her veins at the gentle and kind treatment she was receiving, maids softly rushing to her once the healer escorted her to her chambers, their tender hands leading her inside the warm rooms. She could feel their hands carefully leading her into the large bathing chamber, gently removing her cloak, and then her dress, leaving her exposed and nude as if physically mocking the shame she felt inside of her, before helping to step down into the warm water. 

The hot water felt soothing against her skin, the scents of many oils and flowers filling the room around her. The maids remained always so careful as they washed her body and hair, hands combing through her long golden locks with motherly care, as if they could sympathize with what she was feeling, as if they could offer their gentle comfort and care to make her feel better. But they knew nothing, and that only irritated her more, making her guilt, shame and regret only intensify. They treated her like royalty. They treated her like a Queen. And yet, never before had she felt she less deserving of that title than she did now. 

And she simply remained silent, unaware of how long she sat in the soothing water before it grew cold, silent as the kind healer lady cleaned the small cuts and scrapes on her arms, silent even as they maids carefully dressed her in her night gown, helping her onto the comfortable bed and placing the feathered covers around her small figure. She was even less aware of the kind honey-eyed healer giving her a soothing tea to calm her shocked body and minutes later, she was asleep, resting on a time and place where her guilt and shame could follow. 

But those feelings did not abandon her. 

They returned to her the next day, as powerful and consuming as the night before, and she found herself walking in the direction of the Healing Wing, heading to the private room reserved for the royals where she knew Thranduil was kept, her guilt and regret burning through her more than before. She reached the elegant wooden door just as the head healer, Melnor, exited the room, the healer offering her a small smile. 

“My Lady.” The healer greeted with a respectful inclination of the head, a sign of respect she did not feel worthy of at the moment. Did the healer even know that she still could not gather herself enough to walk through the door that lay just behind him? 

“How is he?” She managed to ask, her voice not betraying her guilt and shame, sounding as calmed as usual, even though she could not manage to hide her worry from showing in the sound. She dreaded the answer, fear already pooling inside her hollowed stomach. 

Melnor smiled softly at her for a moment before answering, his voice as gentle as ever, obediently replying to her. “My King will be fine, my Lady. None of his injuries will leave any permanent damage, and they are all healing properly, though it will take some time for him to recover. He had a broken clavicle and a deep wound and dislocation to the shoulder, two broken ribs, and a badly fractured knee. Other than that only minor cuts and bruises. We had to perform surgery to repair the damage in his knee and set the bone back in place, but the injury to his shoulder represents the most risk. The wound was completely exposed underneath the river and so we would like to make sure that it does not develop an infection.” 

She nodded her head, her mind taking in the information that the healer had just given her, not finding in herself the willpower and strength to enter the room just yet. How could she face him after she had so silently walked away the day before? How could she face him when she knew he had seen her giving her back to him? She knew he had seen her, she had seen the look in his eyes as she turned away, and the sole memory made her chest feel constricted. How could she have walked away? 

“You may go inside if you wish, my Lady.” The healer added gently, seeming to have read her hesitation. And yet, she did not miss the subtle way in which the healer’s words really meant ‘you should go in’. “He sleeps now due to the sedatives and painkillers, but he should wake in a couple of hours. He lost a dangerous amount of blood and I can assure you, my Lady, he will be feeling far from well once he wakes and the pain draughts wear off. I am sure he will love your company then.” 

“Thank you.” Was all she managed to say in a polite tone, nodding her head lightly. The head healer simply bowed his head respectfully once more, offering her one last sympathetic smile before walking away down the seemingly endless corridor. 

And yet, she stood still, right in front of the door, her hand on the golden knob without finding in herself the strength to turn it. By the Valar, just turn it! It was Thranduil the one inside the room, Thranduil! The elf she loved and loved her back, the elf that she was to marry! The elf that would never harm her! Every single part of her body and mind called to him needed to be by his side, to make sure he was fine, to simply look upon his resting figure. And yet why did she feel so scared of walking inside, why did her shame feel so consuming that she could not force herself to face him. Not after she had walked away the day before. 

But why was she being such an idiot! Did she really think he would be angry with her? Did she really think he would not want to see her? But then again, she did not want to see herself, and she was sure she would most definitely not want to see herself if she were him. And then, there was the information she had received from the healer, and the painfully fresh image of Thranduil’s bleeding body tossing around in agony as he tried to escape the healer’s hands. And it was too much for her to take, her guilt and regret at walking away burning as passionately as her fear of that particular image engraved in her mind. She could not face him. How could she face him now when she once again could not find in herself the strength to be by his side when he needed her presence? And so, her hand fell down from the knob, once again succumbing to her weakness, fleeing from her fears instead of facing them, and for the second time she walked away, only that this time there were no eyes so see her, no eyes to judge her. She would return later. For now, she would let him rest peacefully. 

But later never came. And that became her ritual, just walking up to the door without being able to enter through it, and every minute that went by stretched the time lapse since she had last seen him, only making her shame and guilt grow and grow until she felt that her prolonged absence no longer had forgiveness. 

Five days. Five days had already gone by since the afternoon of the orc attack, and still she had not been to see Thranduil. And now more than ever she felt unworthy of even going near him. There was no excuse to her absence. No excuse. And after the second day her shame had grown to such an extent that she had been entirely unable to face him. And so time had gone by, and five days had passed. And how could she face him now? How could she after five days of absence? There was no forgiveness to that, and she knew it. He would be more than angry with her. He would not want to see her now, and the thought of facing his rejection only added to her initial fear of watching him hurt. And it hurt her, it hurt her until she wanted to cry. Valar, she loved him. She loved him with every inch of her body, and that only made her shame crush her more and more at the knowledge that she had not even been able to go see him. That was no way of loving anyone. 

For the past five days she had asked every single healer she saw for information on the King’s condition. She had learned that there had been no infection, that he was gradually getting stronger and staying awake for longer periods of time. She had also learned that he was still confined to bed in the private chambers of the healing wing, and would be for at least a couple of more days. And she was also painfully aware that he had inquired about her more than once, and of course none of the healers could have an explanation for her absence. What did he even think of her now? She wanted to kick herself, to scream, to yell at her own stupidity at her own fears that had prevented her from even making an appearance inside his rooms. 

She had gone to see her cousin, Anethor, the only one of her family members to sustain an injury during the orc attack. By the Valar, she had even gone to see the two guards that had also been injured that day, and she did not even know their names! Than why had she not gone to see Thranduil? She could not forgive herself, and if she could not forgive herself how could he? And she found herself once more in front of the elegantly carved wooden door, just staring at it, trying to force herself into walking inside. 

“Good afternoon, my Lady.” A healer greeted her as he walked out of the room, carrying what seemed to be an untouched tray of food in his hands. She merely nodded her head in greeting. 

“Is he awake? How is he?” She repeated her now routinely questions, looking at the healers that pleaded to know every single detail about Thranduil’s condition. She could see the healer’s eyes studying her confusedly, as if he too could not understand why she could not simply walk inside and see him with her own eyes. 

“Yes, my Lord is awake now. He might be slightly disoriented and drowsy from the pain draughts but he is awake and should be for some time.” There was no judgment in the healer’s voice, no sound of disappointment at her prolonged absence, and she did not know if that made her feel better or worse. “Why do you not go inside, my Lady? He will be happy to see you are well. He has been worried about you, my Lady, he fears you are unwell and does not fully believe us when we tell him otherwise.” 

That hit her like a wall of brick. How could she have been so selfish? How had she not been able to walk through that door and see him? What was she so scared of? She suddenly felt as if someone had woken her up to a splash of iced water. She would go in this time. She would not walk away. She would take his anger, his rejection if necessary, but she would go in. And she did not think it twice this time, fighting with everything she had to push back her now overwhelming guilt, her hand grabbing at the golden knob before she could stop herself and think it again. And she stepped into the room. 

She did not know what she had been expecting, and she stood there, barely a step inside the large elegant room, listening as the door clicked closed silently behind her. And yet, whatever it was she had been expecting was not the image that met her eyes. The thick smell of athelas and other medicinal herbs invaded the space, giving the room an aura of tranquility that somehow did nothing to calm her sudden nerves, her suddenly overpowering shame. 

The room was entirely quiet. Thranduil lay in the overly large and comfortable bed in the center of the room, resting slightly propped up on a mountain of pillows against the headboard, the silvery covers pulled up to his waist. Thick white bandages covered his entire left shoulder and a large part of his bare, perfectly muscled chest, his whole left arm carefully bent and supported close to his torso by the bandages, so that he would not be able to move it. She could see a bulge underneath the sheets by his legs where a pillow must have been resting beneath his injured knee. 

There was only one healer inside the room, sitting silently on a chair by the King’s side, his hands overly carefully pressing what seemed to be pieces of ice held inside a cloth to Thranduil’s left shoulder, on the spot where she had seen the broken pieces of his collarbone sticking out of his flesh five days ago. 

Piercing ice blue eyes lifted in her direction immediately, seeming to consume her in their endless crystal blue flames, at first surprised, then seeming to quickly take in her entire form, scanning her for any signs of injuries, and then, as fast as they had landed on her, they became silent one more, perfectly concealing whatever it was his thoughts. She felt her guilt only rising, rushing through her like poison, but she did not look away, her ashamed and pleading green eyes meeting his crystalized blue ones in a long silent stare. Her heart drummed impatiently inside her chest as fear and pain started to build in the pit of her stomach. And then, mere seconds after, without so much as a word, so much as a hint of an emotion, he looked away, his head rolling slowly to the opposite side of her, his loose silvery hair brushing his shoulders in the process. 

That sole action hurt more than any word or wound ever could, and she remained frozen for a second, fidgeting with her hands in shameful acknowledgement of the silent rejection she knew she deserved. He did not want to look at her. But how could she have expected him to want to look at her if it had been five days that she had not been able to look at him? Did he blame her too? He had to. Of course he had to. It had been because of her. And she would have walked away once more, she would have just turned around and drown on her well deserved pain had it not been for the fact that she could still feel him through their bond, still intact, still pulsating strongly through her, linking her to him. He was not pushing her away. He was angry, that she knew without even needing to ask, but he was not sealing himself away from her. 

She opened her mouth, but closed again when she realized she did not know what to say. Instead she took some hesitant steps forward, approaching the bed in complete silence. Thranduil’s face remained turned away from her, and she could see his ice blue eyes fixed on the tall windowpane, not really looking at it, his lips pressed together in thin line. With a silent gesture, she motioned to the healer that she would take over, and the elf quietly rose to his feet, placing the iced cloth he had been holding on the bedside table and bowing lightly before exiting the room, seeming eager to flee from the middle of this uncomfortable situation. 

Not knowing what else to do, she silently grabbed at the cloth-covered pieces of ice, feeling the cold sensation in her hands for a moment before slowly, as if tentatively, pressing it carefully to Thranduil’s shoulder, in the same way she had seen the healer doing. He did not move. He did not turn to look at her, but neither did he push her away, allowing her to remain close to him as she continued to carefully press the crushed ice to his bandaged shoulder, even though she could see the concealed anger burning inside his ice blue eyes. She did not know if the fact that he had not yet yelled at her or asked to leave but had let her get closer to him caused her relief or simply more guilt. He still looked pale and tired, but considerably better than he had five days ago. And it pained her to no end to know that only days ago she would have simply climbed onto the bed without so much as asking for permission, knowing that his arms would already be open and waiting for her. And yet, now here she stood, praying silently for his eyes to as much as turn in her direction, knowing that there was no other responsible for this than her. 

“How do you feel?” She finally broke the silence, knowing that it was up to her to do so. Why would he even attempt to start a conversation now? Her voice was soft, betraying more of her regret and plea for forgiveness than she would have liked. Valar, all she wanted to slide her fingers down his long blond hair, to stroke the silvery strands until he fell asleep, to lovingly caress his cheek, to tie her arms around him and never let go as he kissed her. But she did not dare touch him right now. She had no right to do any of those things. He was in his current sate because of her, and she could not ever bear it to let anything else happen to him for the sake of her own safety. 

The seconds stretched, her voice hanging hollowly in the empty air, and just when she thought he would not answer he did, but his words had not been the ones she had been expecting. 

“You would know if you had been here during the past five days.” His voice was quiet, trembling with rage she knew he was trying to hold back. He was irate, and he had reason to be. She knew very well he hated everything about the situation, he hated being confined to bed, hated having healers hovering over him day and night, and none of that was helping with the anger he felt towards her right now. She held back a wince at his tone, determined to not let it crush her. And yet, even in his irate tone she could not help but grimace at the raspy and weak sound of his usually strong and powerful voice. 

“Thranduil, I….” She did not know what to say, forcing her voice to come out. “I am sorry.” 

That was it. What else could she possibly say? She had no excuse to her absence, only her plea for forgiveness. For the first time his face turned in her direction, as hard and unreadable as the most precious of marbles, ice blue eyes piercing her with their unimaginable power, holding her in place as his iced crystal orbs studied her for a moment, impenetrable, as if wanting to read the honesty of her words in her eyes. And then, as silently as before, he turned his face away once more, eyes returning to scrutinize the snowed windowpane. 

She let her eyes fall closed for a painful second before opening them again, swallowing the lump in her throat as she stood there, condemned to her guilt and his cold rejection. She could see his right hand angrily twisting at the feathered covers in nearly unnoticeable motions. 

“I thought you were unwell.” She heard him hiss through his clenched teeth, not turning to face her as he spoke. But he spoke. He talked to her when he had begun to expect nothing but silence, even if his words stung like salt on an open wound. “I thought something had befallen you, that you had been hurt in some kind of way to explain why you had not been able to come. Do you even know how worried I was? I spent hours trying to figure out what could possibly be troubling you, and nothing was. You are perfectly fine.” 

His words hurt like wounds to her soul and she could hear both the actual relief and painful accusation in his voice. And still, here he was, telling her his thoughts. She knew Thranduil was not one to explain his ire to anyone, to say what was causing him his rage. He was one to simply yell in anger without anyone to question him, and yet here he was explaining himself to her, even though she could see the rage boiling in his eyes he had not raised his voice at her. 

“I…” She did not know what to say, it was getting harder to talk though the lump on her throat. “I thought…..after I left the room….I….I walked away…I thought that…that after that….” 

“You thought what?” He suddenly hissed, eyes flashing in her direction like burning blue flames, as cold as the sharpest of ice, and even in their blinding ire, she could see no hatred in them, not even the slightest hint of dislike. “You thought that I would not want to see you because you left he room that day? You thought that would anger me? Are you scared of me?” 

There was a deeper kind of accusation in his voice this time, one that hurt at the offense in his voice at the knowledge that she had thought that of him. She froze, feeling his eyes burning through her, pressing her for an answer that did not came. What could she answer to that? Valar, this was so hard. They had argued many times before, but never had he really been angry with her, never had their arguments and fights been true fights. He let out an angry sigh when she did not respond, turning his face once more away from her. 

“I do not hold anything against you for leaving the room that day. You were scared, and shaken, and had every right to be so. But five days, Alarya?” 

His iced eyes turned in her direction once more, scrutinizing her, trying to read an answer in her own eyes, but she could not speak. What could she possibly say? I am sorry? He already knew that. He was furious, and it hurt her to know that his anger was mostly caused by pain, pain at her absence. 

“I know this experience was not easy for you.” He said at last, his voice once again a barely audible whisper between clenched teeth. “I know that it affected you, and that you saw horrors your eyes had never seen before, and I understand your fear, but things will not get any easier, Alarya. I can only pray for this battle to be the first and only you see in your life, but I cannot guarantee that. How do I know then, that if something bad where to happen you will stay by my side? How do I know you will not run away?” 

Once again she did not know what to say, the lump in her throat making it nearly impossible for her to even think straight. What was he talking about? Did he really think she would walk away just like that? But then again had she not just done that? Walked away and not come back for five days? 

“I am here now.” She managed to say, feeling as her own pain transformed into slight anger, protesting at his accusations. “I came back. I know there was no excuse, but I am here now, and I said I was sorry. I really am sorry, Thranduil. I always come back. You know I do. Every time I have walked away, I always come back. I love you, Thranduil.” It was all her fault. 

He looked at her for a moment, once again reading into her eyes and she knew that did not have the slightest doubt that her words were true. He believed her fully, as he always did, but this time her words had not seemed to help much in the matter. 

“I love you too, Alarya.” He said in his angered whisper, and even through his irate voice, his raging eyes, there was no mistaking the transparent honesty in his voice, the truth to those simple words. “You know I do. That has not and will not change. But I do not need you to come back. I need you to stay. If you are going to marry me, I need it to be because you plan to stay.” 

Words abandoned her entirely, her heart feeling as if it was drumming inside her throat. He was right. She knew he was right. Then why could she not get herself to tell him she would stay? She could not get herself to promise him something she was not sure she would keep. And yet, more than anything she wanted to tell him she would always stay by his side, that she loved like he could not even begin to imagine, that she wanted to spend every single minute of every single day of her life with him, to go to sleep and wake up in his arms. He was the one with whom her spirit had bonded, and he was the only one she would ever love. Elves did not love more than once, and once a bond had been born there was no breaking it. And their bond was strong. But how could she make him a promise that only minutes ago she had proven herself unable to keep? How could she when she knew herself and knew that her instinct was always to run? How could she, when she was the cause of all of his injuries? 

“Perhaps I am not yet ready for that.” She could hardly believe the words that were leaving her mouth, her voice a barely audible trembling sound. But it was the flash of pure agonizing pain that crossed his eyes at her words what truly made her heart shatter. She had never seen such pain in his eyes, and it only caused her own pain to double. And then, a mere second after, the pain in his eyes turned into rage, the wildest of rages she had ever seen before, his face once again turning away from her, lips pressed tightly together. 

“Perhaps you are not.” 

That made it. Those simple words cur through her heart like the sharpest of daggers, shattering her to pieces right on the spot. Everythign seemed to stop, everything seemed to end. Nothing no longer mattered. He did not turn to look back at her, and part of her was glad for that because he did not see the tears now silently sliding down her cheeks. 

“I am tired.” He suddenly said, his voice incredibly low, still angered, but it was a different sort of anger, one that still carried the deepest of pains attached to it, one that seemed slightly void, cold like ice, unfeeling. His eyes remained looking away from her, giving no indication that he would turn to face her once more. “I wish to rest.”

And she knew what those words meant. It hurt to be dismissed, especially since he had never dismissed her from a room before. But nothing could even begin to be compared with the pain she felt from his previous words. 

“Of course.” Was all she was able to produce through the tight knot on the throat, her voice sounding broken and shaky, even though she tried hard to make it sound steady. Then, knowing it was probably the most painful thing she had ever done in her entirely life, she let her trembling fingers reach the splendid ring resting elegantly on he left hand’s third finger, slowly pulling it free, feeling as if she was pulling part of her very soul with it, stripping her nude both inside and outside. Slowly, quietly, she placed the gorgeous jewel upon the silvery covers of the bed, next to him, and even though he did not turn to face her, she knew he had seen, his face remained a hard stone mask. Then, she let her shaking hand reach up to his face, her trembling fingers affectionately placing a strand of his long blond hair behind his ear. “Rest, Thranduil.” 

And then, without another word, she left the room, barely hearing the click of the door behind her, painfully aware of the sound of a pillow smashing hardly against the door a couple of seconds after. She did not hear the many greetings she received from the elves she crossed on her way to her chambers, did not even know how she had managed to dry her tears and put on a perfectly calmed mask, walking as tall and proud as she usually did. Everything only became real to her once she had entered the Sitting Room that she shared with her parents, her eyes looking up to her mother and father’s pairs from where they had been sitting at a long couch, her ears barely hearing as her voice hollowly announced: 

“There will be no wedding.”


	17. Forget

A dull ache spreading mercilessly through his body pulled him from the welcoming arms of sleep. Slowly, ever so slowly, the waking world seemed to call on him, painfully reminding him of his throbbing knee and shoulder, as his mind still fought to remain in the soothing darkness, oscillating in between sleep and reality. A barely audible groan reached his ears through the empty blackness, but he could not tell if it had been him.

“Thranduil?” A voice, deep and steady filtered trough his foggy mind, drifting among his dazed thoughts. He could vaguely hear movement around him, the dull ache he felt only increasing as he started to wake up. “My Lord?” 

Slowly, the Elvenking’s eyes fluttered open, only to fall closed tightly once more as he was faced with the full blow of his injuries, every single muscle in his body protesting against the fact that he was once again awake. His shoulder felt as if it was on fire, and his knee burned with a searing pain that seemed almost unbearable. The pain draught had most certainly worn off. 

“Do not move, my Lord.” The voice spoke again, and he opened his eyes once more to glare into the dark blue irises of his closest friend and advisor. The Valar knew he did not have the slightest intention of moving, at least for some minutes. 

Doronor sat on a comfortable seat that had been placed by his bed on the Healing Wing, his long burgundy robes draping over him elegantly. Apart form the Advisor, only his butler, Galion, standing quietly in a corner, occupied the room, and he had never been more relieved at the absence of healers around. A welcoming fire danced peacefully on the ample fireplace, the orange flames as cold as the harsh winter outside. The freezing rain drummed against the multiple windows, the cold thick drops sliding lifelessly down the fine crystals, glowing in dim silver at the grey light of the stormy day. At least it was no longer snowing. 

“How do you feel, my Lord?” Doronor’s voice made his ice blue eyes turn again in his direction, but he did not answer. Instead, he attempted to sit up, his Advisor and butler immediately coming to help him, much to his annoyance, but he had to admit that the multiple pillows they placed behind his back did feel wonderful against his aching body.

“Thranduil, are you in pain?” Doronor’s voice was gentle and he had to fight his urge to let out a humorless chuckle at the irony of that question, not even opening his eyes to glance up at his friend. In Pain? That was all he was in at that moment: in pain. And yet, it was a different kind of paint the one that had assaulted him the fiercest since the moment he woke up, a pain deeper and sharper than that of his injuries, a pain that his mind kept desperately trying to escape, but it would not lessen, only turning his hurt into anger, ire, flaring through his veins like venom. He could still feel Alarya’s engagement ring held tightly in his closed fist underneath the silken bedcovers, his fingers crushing the delicate jewel against his skin with all of his rage until it physically hurt. His mind would not stop going over that short conversation he had had with Alarya the day before, only making his ire double, his pain triple. He no longer knew what to think, what to concentrate his thoughts on, all he could think of what the exquisite ring in his fist, the ring that had only a day ago been safely placed on her delicate pale finger. And yet, he could still feel her through their bond, as open and reachable as ever, not severed in the slightest, as if neither of them wanted to pull away just yet. But there was no pulling away. There was no breaking their bond. And he did not know if that felt as a relief or if simply angered him more. Valar, he was furious with her! 

The Elvenking barely even noticed as Galion silently handed him a glass of water, taking a couple of sips from the refreshing liquid before handing it back to the butler for it to be placed on the bedside table. Then, he allowed his ice blue eyes to travel to his Advisor once more, swallowing once before addressing the blond elf before him. 

“How long have you been sitting there?” His voice came out more cutting and cold than he would have liked, the sound still slightly hoarse, but he was most definitely not in the mood for conversations at the moment. Every inch of his body ached, and even though he hated to admit it, he was still feeling dizzy and weary from the large amount of blood he had lost. He was sure Doronor could perfectly well pick up on his sour mood, but to his gratitude, the advisor did not react to it, simply acting as if his words had been a warm welcoming gesture. 

“Not for too long.” Came his friend’s gentle reply, his hand placing a small pile of parchments on the bedside table, next to large tray of fresh fruits and cheeses that a servant must have left there for him while he slept. “I came to see how you were doing, and to bring you the reports from the most recent patrols that you asked for.” 

Thranduil nodded in response, leaning his head back against the overly soft pillows and closing his eyes for a long silent second. He was not in the mood for reading or discussing about any sort of report at the moment, no matter if he had asked for them only a day ago. He would read them tomorrow, or later that day if he felt like it. 

“There is a little someone waiting at the door, begging to be let in to see you if you would allow it, of course.” Doronor continued, a small proud smile playing on his marble face, making him arch one eyebrow in return. He did not need to ask to know who the little someone was, and for a second, the though of the young and innocent elfling made his heart ache a little bit less. 

“Should I let him in, my Lord? He did promise to go to bed at the indicated hour if I let him come.” A smirk appeared on his Advisor’s face as he spoke, and at that moment he was sure that Doronor had already guesses what his answer would be. 

With the faintest of smiles, the King of Mirkwood nodded his head, ice blue eyes following Doronor’s tall figure was he walked to the door, opening it to let in a small very familiar elfling. Large and innocent azure eyes darted in the direction of the comfortable bed upon which he lay, so untroubled, so filled with joy and life. Doronor, however, picked up the elfling in his arms before the latter could run towards the bed, a delighted fit of giggles bouncing on the walls. The child did not seem to care whether he walked or was carried, little pale arms locking around Doronor’s neck as his Advisor returned to sit on the chair by the bed, placing the restless child on his lap. 

“Hello, King Thranduil!” The elfling chirped animatedly, waving one of his little hands at him, legs bouncing repeatedly against his father’s knees. 

“Hello, Amrudir.” He replied, unable to hold back a smile at the elfling’s innocent and carefree behavior. The child’s attention seemed to be now focused on the long windowpanes, one eye closed tightly as his little index finger danced in a downward motion before his open eye, as if tracing the pattern of the water drops sliding down the crystals from the distance. 

“Amrudir.” Doronor called the elfling’s attention back to him, azure eyes turning to gaze at his father, every emotion openly displayed in those large orbs for the world to see. “Did you not bring King Thranduil something?” 

And adorable expression crossed the elfling’s face as he suddenly seemed to remember the reason why he had come. Without s single word, one little head nodded vigorously, a small hand extending towards the Elvenking, showing a large chocolate cookie. 

“Is that for me?” He asked in a gentle voice, unable to hold back a light chuckle at the elfling’s heart melting gesture. Once again, the child simply nodded his head, a wide smile on his little face, large blue eyes looking at him as he was wearing his finest robes and crown and sitting high on his throne instead of lying on a bed with half of his body covered in bandages. “Why, thank you, Amrudir.” 

“Here, let me put it over here where King Thranduil can reach it later.” He heard Doronor say to his small son as he took the cookie from the child’s hand, placing it on the tray with fruits and cheeses currently resting untouched on the bedside table. He threw his friend a look of gratitude for relieving him from having to accept the cookie with his hands and most possibly having to taste it to please the little elfling. The Valar knew the last thing he felt like was eating. 

“Amrudir.” Doronor called to get the child’s attention back to him, the elfling now entertained with throwing his head as far back as it would go, gazing up at his father from a nearly upside down position, letting out small mirthful giggles. “Amrudir, tell King Thranduil what the cookie was for.” 

Another fist of sweet giggles came as the only response, the child now leaning back comfortably against his father’s chest, eyes looking curiously about the room. 

“Amrudir, my son,” His Advisor tried again, this time managing for this elfling’s eyes to at least turn in his direction once more. “Are you not going to tell King Thranduil what the cookie was for?” 

The child did not respond, simply shaking his little head before hiding his face on his father’s robes, as if suddenly shy of saying anything. 

“Tell King Thranduil what you told me during lunch. Why you wanted to bring him that cookie?” Doronor kept on trying, a light smile hiding back a laugh at the child’s suddenly shy reaction, but the elfling simply shook his head again. “No? Do you want me to tell him?” Another shake of the head, the child now climbing out of his father lap an onto his feet, Doronor quickly making sure he had a hold of the elfling before the later could decide on setting about running through the place. 

He let out a light laugh at the child’s unwillingness to cooperate with his father’s request, deciding to try for himself. “Amrudir, what is the cookie for?” 

Azure eyes turned in his direction, an innocent chuckle leaving the child’s mouth as he leaned back his little body against his father’s knees, but he did not answer. He let his eyes travel to meet his friend’s dark blue ones, the latter shaking his head slightly with a shrug of his shoulders, another light laugh escaping his lips at the child’s sudden shyness. 

“Well, then ask King Thranduil what you told me you would ask him. Do you remember what it was?” Doronor whispered to his son who now had one finger in his little mouth. This time the elfling nodded his head, swinging his upper body from side to side on his little feet. “Are you going to ask him?” 

This time another energetic nod of the head was the child’s answer, little teeth biting down on his smiling lips as he suddenly made a dash towards the bed, Doronor catching the tiny figure just in time to stop him. “No, no, no! What did I say about jumping onto King Thranduil today?” 

A sudden look of realization crossed the child’s large azure eyes, letting out an adorable guilty smile before climbing once again over his father’s lap. He could not contain a slight chuckle from escaping his lips, although he was overly glad for Doronor’s quick reaction in catching the child. 

“Amrudir, what did you want to ask me?” He reminded the child, who quickly took his fingers out of his mouth before speaking in an animated voice. 

“Can I be a warrior of your guard once I’m bigger?” Eager azure eyes looked up at him with excitement, as if wanted to accelerate time and grow up as quickly as possible. Valar, please do not let the child grow up. 

“I will tell you something.” He said, unable to laugh at the child’s overly excited expression. “You can even be Captain of my guard if you prove yourself capable of it.” 

That made it. The elfling’s blue eyes widened in disbelief, mouth open in the largest of smiles, nearly bouncing up and down. “Really?” 

“Yes.” He answered, but the child did not wait for him to speak, already turning his head around to face his father. 

“Ada! Did you hear what he said?” The elfling chirped, only causing his friend and Advisor to let out a round of chuckles. 

“Yes, I heard, my son.” Doronor added in his calmed voice, raising an eyebrow at him. “Now why do you not go play so that King Thranduil can rest?” 

Amrudir nodded his head before jumping down from his father’s lap, starting to make his way towards the door before his father caught him by one little arm. “Say goodbye.” 

“Goodbye!” The child waved his little hand again, but Doronor stopped him once more, only managing to produce another fit of sweet giggles from the elfling. 

“Say a proper goodbye, Amrudir. It is the King you are talking to.” His Advisor pressed and for a second he was temped to simply tell Doronor to forget about propriety and let the child be a child, but he knew that his friend was merely trying to teach his son good manners, and the elfling did not look bothered by it in the slightest. 

“Goodbye, King Thranduil!” The elfling corrected himself, not even giving the Elvenking time to reply before dashing out of the room. 

“I suppose I do not need to warn you against eating that cookie? He has been carrying that in his hand fro hours. Only the Valar know where that cookie has been.” He heard Doronor adding once the child had left the room, standing up from the chair and walking closer to the bed, a silent smirk playing on his usually composed face. He grimaced, slightly, only thinking about food made his stomach turn, still feeling nauseous from the many teas and pain killers that he healers had been giving him for nearly a week now. 

He did not comment, merely allowing himself a second to lean his head back against the pillows and close his eyes. The child was a precious little thing, but now that he was freed from the pleasant distraction he found himself once again succumbing to the full extent of his pain, to his anger. He could nearly hear his Advirsor’s expression turning sober once more, and he knew his friend could perfectly tell he was in pain, although he knew better than to comment on it. Of course Doronor knew that he was furious with Alarya. Of course he knew of her prolonged absence and his growing ire, but never did he talk about it once, and he was glad for it. Doronor did not know of the engagement ring that he currently crushed inside his right fist, and he was not planning to telling his friend about it at the moment. 

“You know,” The gentle voice of his friend started once more, the tone that of a casual conversation and he silently thanked him for his attempt at driving his thoughts away from the throbbing ache in his shoulder and knee, from the boiling anger he felt inside of him, burning through his veins. “Amrudir grabbed that cookie during his lunch, and he told me that he was going to save it for King Thranduil to make him feel better.” 

The faintest of chuckles left his mouth, although he did not open his eyes. “You have a very special son, my friend.” 

“I know that.” Came the Advisor’s answer, followed by a long peaceful silence. Outside, he could hear the faint lulling sound of the cold rain falling over the thick layers of powdered snow, the frozen trees swaying slowly to the wind. 

“You really should eat something, my Lord.” Doronor added, his voice low and calmed. “I will let you rest now. Let me know if you need anything.” 

He opened his ice blue eyes to gaze at his friend, nodded his head lightly in thanks as the tall elf silently left the room, closing the door quietly behind him, leaving him alone in his painful torment, into the abyss of his thoughts, the flames of his anger. 

For long hours he remained there, lying on the bed underneath the feathered covers, trying to will himself to sleep, but his mind would not rest. His anger was maddening, every time he thought about the events of the day before it only made is ire burn wilder. Why?! Valar, why did she have to make things so difficult! And he did not know which feeling was stronger, his ire or his pain. 

Her had been so scared, so scared that he would loose her as the raging river pulled her down into its claws. He had been so scared that she had been hurt, that something was troubling her, that the trauma of such an attack had been too much for her. He had wanted her to stay that day. He remembered only vague pieces of the time when he was brought back to the palace, his memories merely an incoherent daze of pain and voices, but he remembered her face, he remembered her being there, remembered her turning her back to him, walking out of the room. He had felt her fear through their bond, had felt her sudden panic, and even though amidst his pain he had longed to see her face to have her as an anchor and escape from his suffering, he had not been angered at her. But five days? 

Only thinking about that made another wave of seething rage course through his body, his fist only crushing the ring harder against his palm. Five days? He would never admit out loud, but her absence had hurt more than any of his wounds, and that angered him until he felt he was about to go insane. Five days. He vividly remembered waking up in this chamber five days ago, his whole body feeling as if was on fire, his head pounding mercilessly as everything appeared to spin around him. He had believed she would make an appearance, had waited until his body succumbed to his exhaustion, too tired and in pain to stay awake for long, and yet she had not come. And she had been completely fine. 

It enraged him, enraged him until it hurt, but was that not ironic? For what enraged him was the fact that it hurt. For nearly the first time in his long life, he had felt alone. It was a strange feeling, one that he was not used to. He had felt alone. True, there had been healers around him day and night, there had been the butler, Galion, and there had been Doronor every once in a while, but the only company he had yearned for was hers. And it felt as if his pride had been injured with the realization that he felt alone, and that only made him more angry in return. 

And yet, even now, as he lay motionlessly with his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, he longed for her company. Even now, as his anger boiled through his veins, as he wanted nothing more than to yell at her, he wanted to see her. He loved her. He loved so much that it felt as if he could not be angry with her, even though his ire could not have been larger at the moment. It was as if every inch of his body longed to see her, to lay eyes upon her small figure, her endless green eyes that seemed to mock the word around her, her silver laugh that sung more sweetly than the forest, her long golden hair that cascaded like gold waterfalls down her back. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to hear her say that she still wanted to marry him, that she had not meant her word form the day before. And at the same time he did not want to see her, his anger too much for him to take. But what kind of game were they playing? Their bond was too strong to be ignored. He loved her, and to his further ire, he knew she loved him in return. 

Thranduil was vaguely aware of a couple of healers walking inside the room some hours after, silently allowing his bandages to be replaced by cleaned ones, his wounds to be bathed in healing salves, his knee to be splinted once more so that he could not move it even if he tried, left arm tightly bandaged to his body in a bent position. He still had a long recovery ahead of him, and that was not helping with his sour mood. Pain flared once again through his body as his wounds were taking care of, but for the first time it did not feel that bad, no, on the contrary, the sting of his physical pain served to take off his mind, at least momentarily, from the pain inside his heart. And then, before he could even realize it, he was alone again, only Galion still standing quietly in one corner remained in the room. 

The rest of his day passed in between sleep and consciousness, still too weary to remain awake for more than a couple of hours, it was no different from the rest of the next day…or the next week, when the healers finally allowed him to be moved back to his own bedchambers and out of the Healing Wing. He was not aware of when that happened, only remembering falling asleep in one room and waking up in his own chambers, and somehow the familiar solitude of the vast room, its pillars stretching endlessly towards a ceiling that it seem they would never reach, felt somewhat soothing to him. The days seemed to come and go without even so much as a wake of a sunray, reports flying to his chambers in their daily routine, healers coming less and less frequently now, and he was slowly allowed to walk around his room, even if he could not manage to go far yet. 

The pristine snow that covered the grounds outside had melted, the first patches of the green grass reaching out to meet the golden sun, trees slowly starting to bloom in thousands of colorful flowers, as even the grey colored winter sky turned a calming shade of longing blue. Even the breeze had changed, now soft and warm, the cold bitterness of the iced wind suddenly vanished, already forgotten to be replaced by the harmonious songs and chirps of the birds that announced the arriving spring. 

His anger had also dissipated, slowly washed away like the rain did to the snow, and he could not even remembered the exact moment, the exact morning, when he woke up no longer feeling the poisonous rage traveling through his veins. And it still, it was in days like this one, when the silvery rays of the sun high in the sky painted colors on the marble floor of his balcony as he sat quietly and alone at one of the many ornate tables, that his ice blue eyes glanced at the tall pair of doors, suddenly longing for the them to open, for a familiar figure to simply waltz through them as her large emerald eyes looked for him. But she would not come. 

He had not seen Alarya since that day, had not even heard from her, the splendid engagement ring that had sat in her delicate pale finger now locked up safe in one of the many chests with jewels in his chambers, sealed in the darkness of its little wooden box, must probably accumulating dust by now. And he missed her, he missed her more than he would ever admit to anyone, their bond still thriving inside of him, wanting to come back to the surface, but he kept repressing it, ignoring it, storing it deep inside his soul with the rest of his self. But was that not something he was an expert at doing? Did he not know very well how to be cold and distant? To store and lock up all of his emotions, all of his feelings and never let them resurface? It did not make him less of a King, nor did it distract him form performing all his duties in the same he had done since his Coronation. 

And thus the week came and went, and then the month, his injuries now no more than a painful memory, and he had found himself sitting once again the high table n his throne-like chair in the endless gardens, dressed in fine scarlet robes, overlooking the Spring Festival, and it had been the least festive celebration he had ever attended. He kept appearances, of course, talked to everyone who approached him, drank his wine and even laughed every once in a while, his people dancing and singing all through the day and into the night, flowers hanging form every surface, and braided into every head, all in a daze of colors that had never seemed so colorless to him. And still, his eyes searched, he searched through every elf in the crowd, searched even after he had already searched twice just to be absolutely sure, hoping against hope that he had somehow missed her, that the had overlooked her. But Alarya was not there. 

And so came the summer, the flowers now fallen on the grass like a colorful carpet, the trees a brig shade of green that glistened under the vivid Sun, the same emerald shade of her eyes. And he convinced himself he had forgotten already, not even allowing him time to think about it anymore as he settled back into his daily routine, holding councils and receiving foreign dignitaries, organizing patrols and reading all about their trade reports. No one had even dared to mention Alarya to him, not one question was asked about the Lady’s sudden absence from his side, but he was no fool. He knew the rumors that spread through the thick murmuring walls of his Palace, knew of all the different versions and guesses of their fight and split that circulated from servant to servant, even if he turned a blind eye to them, still the tall and regal King he was. 

More than once he considered walking to the chambers where he knew her family now resided, more than one speech already memorized inside his head, but he never went, his pride too much to allow him to go anywhere near there. Even Summer Solstice came and went and he once again spent it on the welcoming solitude of his chambers, feasting on his wine after politely declining all of the invitations he received – as he did every year- all except one, one that he had longed to find sitting at his desk, but one that never arrived. And he even found himself one evening, when the fallen gold and red leaves of the trees already pooled on the balconies and gardens to walk to the terrace where he used to meet Alarya almost every night, only to find it empty. And he never knew what was it exactly that made him stay there almost until midnight, sitting by himself in one of the many cushioned chairs pretending to be reading a book, somehow trying to fool himself into believing that she would eventually show up. But she never did. And he stopped going to that terrace after that night, he stopped letting his eyes scan for her face through the crowds, stopped waiting for news he would not receive, looking for eyes he would not meet. 

And so winter returned, as bright and pure as the year before, ice crystal covering the leaves as powdered snow glistened in the glacial wind. And he found himself in his festive Halls during the Winter Solstice Celebration, when it would have been a year since their engagement, when they would have finally been allowed to marry. And yet, somehow, for nearly the first time in months he found himself actually enjoying a feast, as if all hope had been eradicated from him, the memories too repressed and stored in the deepest corners of his soul, their bond ignored to deeply that it almost felt forgotten now, inexistent. Of course he had searched the crowd, but now merely out of habit than actual longing, and somehow he had failed to feel the pain that usually came when he once again was unable to find her elegant and delicate frame standing along the rest of the feasting elves. Or was he so used to that pain that he no longer recognized it? Either way he did not care. He did see her cousins, but she was not there. And he received many presents, as he did every winter’s solstice, his soul now only aching minimally at the obviously missing pinecone, somehow finding that that was the only gift he would have liked to receive. 

And the snow melted again, and the flowers bloomed and fell, and the green leaves turned red and gold, and then snow came again, and the flowers bloomed and fell, and he forgot. Or he tricked himself strongly to believe he did. 

Or at leas the thought he had. But when the sudden pain snatched him from his peaceful sleep one night, his mind suddenly assaulted by a powerful force, every spinning, his mind being pulled into a turmoil against his own will, his skull feeling as if it was going to burst in half form the pain as he tried with all fi his power to free himself from his attacker, to pull away from the sudden connection that had managed to fin him in hi sleep, to return to reality before this attack could absorb too much of his energy, the attacking presence pushing fiercely against all of his barriers, barriers that had been weaker in his sleeping state, trying to snatch into his mind, to break through the defenses of his forest, he discovered that he had not forgotten after all. He did not know exactly how, but somehow he managed the strength to pull away form the attacking force, his head pounding agonizingly as he slowly came back to his senses, already hearing steps running into his chambers, the guards outside his doors probably having heard him when the foreign force had suddenly attacked out of nowhere. Everything was spinning, and he felt that he would vomit if he so much opened his eyes. 

“My Lord!” He could hear someone calling almost desperately, voice stained with worry, and it wasn’t long until he felt arms holding his shaking form steadily, stopping his swaying and preventing him from falling off the bed. “Call the healer immediately!” 

He tried to speak but he could not open his mouth without being sick. He had suffered many of these attacks before, Alarya having witnessed a couple herself, but never before had he suffered one during his sleep, when he should have been unreachable, unperceivable, and it could only mean that whatever had attacked him just now had been specifically looking form him, specifically searching for his weakest moment, and had found it. A wave of nausea invaded him again and he swallowed thickly against it, feeling something warm oozing from his nose and reaching his lip, where he touched with trembling fingers only to find them stained with crimson liquid. 

“He is bleeding.” He heard the healer Melnor saying suddenly, and he had not even noticed him enter the room, but he was not aware of many things at the moment, the pain in head too much for him to focus on anything else. “Hold him upright.” The healer instructed, and he felt strong arms supporting him in a sitting position as another hand gently pushed his head down, someone holding a piece of cloth to his bleeding nose. 

And even through the pain, through the disorientation and dizziness, only one though crossed his mind, one name that he could think of, one company that he suddenly desperately longed for, one word that left his trembling lips in only a weakened whisper that he could even recognize. “Alarya….Alarya” 

“My Lord, stay still.” He could hear the healer instructing, but the voice felt blurred, distorted through the pain, suddenly feeling too weak, this attack taking a toll on him like other before. 

“Alarya.” He said again, not really knowing if he was expecting an answer or not, his body trembling violently against his own will as he once again fought the urge to vomit as the nausea only increasing as he moved. “Alarya…” 

“Lord Doronor, wake the Lady, and be quick.” He heard Melnor saying, sounding somewhat desperate, but he could not focus very on hearing anything that was said next, the nausea becoming too much for him to keep fighting it, and he was barely able struggle from the hand holding a cloth to his bleeding nose before become violently sick, emptying the contents on his stomach on a bowl someone had been quick enough to place in front of him, the pain in his head only duplicating at his movements until he felt he would pass out. 

“…Alarya…” He called.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi lovelies! This a story I'm trying here, I don't know what should think of it or if it's worth pursuing here :) please let me know what you think! I'm also new to AO3 but I'm already loving it!


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